


Dirk Gently's Holistic Massage Parlour

by HolisticObsessor (Talraven)



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Domesticity, M/M, Manager!Farah, Masseuse!Dirk, Masseuse!Tina, Michael and Dirk bond over being weird, Michael is an awkward little ball of fluff, Michael is secretly BAMF, Receptionist!Todd, Romance, There's way too much smiling going on between him and Dirk, Todd is still bad with feelings, and ALIENS, but that's how I like my Tently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/HolisticObsessor
Summary: Dirk Gently dropped out of university to become a Holistic Masseuse. Together with his odd-ball group of friends slash employees, he saves lives and cures obscure diseases, one selective client at a time. This time, he also happens to fall in love, unearth family secrets, get kidnapped by a madman with a fake moustache, and also play matchmaker to his aforementioned friends. Not necessarily in that order.Aka, the Holistic Massage Parlour AU literally no one asked for.





	1. What's a holistic masseuse?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Duncanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duncanor/gifts).



> ^My #1 hypebuddy in the crusade to #SaveDirkGently. ♥ You da best, and I hope you like this!
> 
> Tidbits you should keep in mind as you read:  
> 
> 
> 1- The M rating is for recreational drug use, mentions/discussions of murder/killing for a living, threats of torture (which never occur), off-screen deaths of minor characters, swearing and sexual themes (although there's no actual smut, what a surprise) - it's actually more light-hearted than all that makes it sound, but just in case!
> 
> 2- Priest is Dirk's adoptive brother and Norton is Priest's husband (because I can't let go of these two, they're embedded in my brain, god)
> 
> 3- Priest co-owns the business with Dirk because he had/has money and Dirk did not (still does not, considering how he runs it) but Dirk is in charge, basically, since Priest has no interest in being a masseuse - no one else actually knows this, though, besides Dirk and maybe Farah (though she has no idea who Priest is)
> 
> 4- This ended up being more about Tently and Priest's domestic bliss with Norton than any actual massages, so... *shrugs* Sorry?
> 
> 5- Priest's last name is his mother's maiden name and Dirk kept his own name after he came of age because they both kind of have a love-hate relationship with Scott (who is Priest's dad and Dirk's adoptive father)
> 
> 6- One day I will write a smutty sequel revolving around Dirk and Michael or a prequel on how the business started, but today is not that day because I'm supposed to be finishing poppies but my brain hates me *facepalms*

Dirk’s in the back of the parlour, sitting behind stacks and stacks of paperwork on his desk in his office, periodically dozing off upright in his high-backed chair instead of _actually_ doing the paperwork like he’s _supposed_ to, when an angry call of his name snaps him to attention.

“DIRK SVLAD GENTLY!” the voice rings out from beyond his closed door.

Dirk jerks in his chair, back going ramrod straight and drooping eyes flying wide open at the sound, and he knows who it is before the door actually slams open.

Farah Black is standing in the doorway, an ominous air of danger radiating off of her belying the pleasant - _clearly_ forced - smile on her face.

“Busy?” she asks him, very rhetorically, but Dirk tries to answer her, anyway, despite his survival instincts screaming at him to _keep quiet, you idiot_.

“Actually, Farah, since you’re asking, I _do_ have these two mountains of-”

“Good, I need to have a word with you, Dirk,” Farah cuts him off, striding into the room.

Dirk notices with a nervous gulp that she closes the door behind her and _locks_ it, and Dirk vaguely wonders if he’s left the lights on at his flat because if Farah murders him, he’s sure no one will ever find his body, and if the lights are on at home, no one will even notice he’s been gone - at least not for a long time.

“Dirk,” Farah says, taking a seat in one of the green plastic chairs across his desk. She looks very serious, her smile gone, her eyes flat.

Dirk grins brightly at her. “Yes, Farah?” he says.

“Todd told me you rejected _four_ walk-ins today,” Farah says in a level tone.

 _That traitor best friend_!

“Yes, I did,” Dirk says aloud, nodding.

Farah stares at him for a moment before she closes her eyes and takes a deep, long breath, exhaling slowly before opening her eyes again and staring at him as she says, “Why would you do that, Dirk?”

“Well, because Tina’s sick, isn’t she?” Dirk tells her with confusion. “I told you about it this morning. We can’t have her touching people all over or we’ll be proliferating a venereal disease! We’ll lose our license at that rate.”

Farah’s stare becomes flatter, a feat Dirk had thought was impossible and which he’s honestly impressed that she’s capable of achieving.

“Dirk,” she says slowly, and Dirk nods, smiling. “We’ve… we’ve talked about this,” she says, her voice almost as tight as her face. “You can’t keep turning away paying customers just because Tina’s with a client or called in sick, or on leave. Also, please stop talking about us like we’re a- a _brothel_. I don’t care what Tina does inside the massage rooms, but saying it out loud gives- would give other people the _very_ wrong idea.”

“But we don’t have any other masseuse,” Dirk tells her pointedly, scoffing. “What would we do? Ask them to massage themselves? Hah, that would be quite the sight. They could probably do that themselves at home without our services, anyway.”

“ _You’re_ our other masseuse, Dirk!” Farah says loudly, frustrated.

Dirk makes a mental note to pencil her in for a session with Tina soon, since she really looks like she needs it badly, and shakes his head.

“Farah, I told you,” he tells her. “I don’t take clients that don’t _need_ me.”

“But _we_ need them, Dirk!” Farah protests. “The _business_ needs them! Without money coming in, we won’t be able to make payments and then we’ll get kicked out of the shop and we’ll have to close down and Tina and Todd are going to lose their jobs!”

Dirk raises a brow critically at her, deciding that her session should be tomorrow afternoon, or earlier if Tina’s client in the morning cancels their appointment.

“Well, first of all,” Dirk starts, in a tone that Todd’s repeatedly told him is very rudely patronising but which Dirk thinks is the kindest tone he’s ever managed, “I _own_ the building, so we aren’t likely to be _kicked out_ , as you put it.”

“That’s not-” Farah starts but Dirk wags a finger at her with a, “Ah, ah, I’m not done yet!” and her mouth snaps shut with a glare.

“Secondly,” Dirk continues, “we’re doing just fine with money; while I am certainly no expert at accounts, I’ve seen our bank statements. We’re making plenty!”

“We made a thousand dollars last month, Dirk,” Farah refutes in a deadpan. “And that’s before the bills.”

Dirk shrugs, making a face. “That’s a lot more than I thought,” he confesses.

Farah groans, burying her face in her hands. “Dirk,” she says, voice muffled behind her fingers. “As your manager, I feel responsible for making sure that this business stays afloat and I can’t do that if you- if you keep sabotaging yourself like this.”

“Sabotage is a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Dirk says. “I see it as more of being _selective_.”

Dirk sees Farah’s shoulders tensing up, and he’s shocked when she actually makes a keening noise in the back of her throat before she stops and stands up abruptly.

“Okay,” she says, expression calm. “Okay, this was- good talk, Dirk. This has been a very good talk.”

Dirk smiles brightly at her. “I think so, too,” he agrees amicably.

“I’m going to go home,” she says like Dirk hasn’t said a word. She’s turned away from him, taking slow, small steps towards the door. “I’m going to go home and clean my kitchen and my living room, and maybe start packing my things since I’ll probably have to move out if I don’t have a job anymore.”

“Didn’t Patrick give you a four million dollar pension or something?” Dirk asks her, confused.

Farah stops and shoots him a glare over her shoulder. “Do I have to remind you that I’m still licensed to carry firearms?” she says sternly before she strides back out, exiting as suddenly as she had entered.

“ _Do_ you bring guns to work, Farah?” Dirk asks loudly after her, curious and slightly alarmed. He’s not sure if that’s quite the best idea, considering guns would scare away any customers they _do_ get. A bit counterproductive, considering what Farah had just told him.

But Farah’s already out of earshot, or completely ignoring him - likely the latter - and Dirk gets no answer. Dirk shrugs, and then sighs as he eyes the paperwork on his desk.

He’s really bored of them. There’re too many words and _legal terms_ , and it’s supposed to be Farah’s job anyway, but she had insisted last week that these reports in particular had required the business owners’ signatures, which would have been an easy job if Farah hadn’t also insisted that Dirk actually _read_ what he’s signing. Dirk had also considered dumping them off onto Oz, but he’s been out of town for the past week and Farah had told him to get them signed by the end of this week. It’s all very bothersome.

Today’s a Friday, which means it’s _almost_ the end of the week already, and Dirk groans as he drops his face onto his desk and contemplates crying.

It’s only 2 in the afternoon, but he thinks maybe he should go home, too.

\---

“I like Farah, maybe you should take her advice,” rings out the voice of Dirk’s brother-in-law from his laptop on the coffee table in the living room. “She seems to be the only sane one in your parlour.”

Dirk makes an offended sound from where he’s rummaging through the fridge in the kitchen.

“You take that back!” he says as he walks back into the living room, arms full of three different types of cheese and four different types of crackers. He dumps them onto the coffee table and settles onto the sofa, glaring at the Skype window where he can see Norton idly knitting _something_.

“Todd is twice more sane, although he obviously can’t be trusted,” Dirk continues grumpily, picking up one of the cheese and tearing its wrapper off almost viciously. “What are you making, anyway?” he asks offhandedly, squinting at the screen. “Is that supposed to be a _mitten_?”

Norton scoffs, pausing to look at Dirk, and then at the unfinished lump of yarn in front of him. “A bootie, actually,” he says, frowning. “Priest said it was coming along _fine_ ,” he says, and then sighs. “That lying prick.”

“What’re you making a _bootie_ for?” Dirk asks, mouth full of cheese. “Also, you’ve been married for a year now, why are you still calling him _Priest_?”

“Force of habit,” Norton replies dismissively, tossing the yarn and the knitting needles away and crossing his arms in front of him to give Dirk a serious look that makes him swallow nervously. “We were planning on telling you next week when you come over for dinner,” he starts slowly.

“Did Oz knock someone up some years ago and now they’re dumping a baby on you two?” Dirk asks, eyes wide.

Norton scowls at him. “ _No_ ,” he says emphatically. “What the hell, Dirk?”

Dirk shrugs, calming down a bit. “It was the first thing that came to mind,” he admits.

Norton snorts indelicately. “I’ll be sure to tell him that, love,” he says, shaking his head. “No, Dirk, it’s not like that. Although it _does_ concern a baby.” He pauses, then smiles. “You’re going to be an uncle,” he tells Dirk.

Dirk’s eyes widen again, and he gapes. “One of you is _pregnant_?” he gasps.

Norton groans, head dropping before looking up at him. He seems to want very badly to strangle Dirk, but that’s nothing new.

“ _No_ , you obtuse man,” Norton says. “We’re _adopting_. And I’m now honestly reconsidering Priest’s insistence to make you her godfather; god knows what ridiculous nonsense you’ll be teaching her.”

“A _baby_?” Dirk says, ignoring everything else Norton had just said. “You’re adopting a _baby_?”

Norton smiles again, albeit this time, it seems nervous and a little sad. “Toddler, to be precise,” he says. “We found her a few months ago, and you know how long these things take. But we got a call last week and they’ve approved us. She’s three; her name’s Bartine Curlish and she’s _adorable_. She’ll officially be our daughter in two weeks.”

Dirk can’t quite decide how to react to the news. On the one hand, he knows how keen Oz and Norton had been about having a big family; Norton had been talking about adoption before Oz had even popped the question, and while Oz would probably make a _terrible_ father - lie; he’d practically raised Dirk, and he’d turned out just fine - Norton’s always been popular with children. Dirk had watched him calm down a demon child throwing a tantrum during a Christmas sale at the mall in two minutes flat, and he _still_ doesn’t know how Norton had done it.

On the other hand, though, Dirk’s not sure if a child is something the two of them are ready for. Dirk knows how good Oz is with kids, how good he had been with Dirk himself, but he also knows that Oz can be a pretty demanding figure. Not to mention, with his job in security, he’s more often than not absent, and Dirk knows first-hand what growing up with a father that’s never there is like. Scott had bailed on so many of his school events that Dirk had eventually asked Oz to come in his stead, and there had been that period in his elementary years where he’d told everyone that Oz was his father because he was sick of all the pitying looks the teachers had kept giving him.

Dirk can’t imagine what them having an actual child will be like, and he feels anxious for this Bartine Curlish.

“Priest is quitting,” Norton says suddenly, and Dirk snaps out of his thoughts, catching the sympathetic look on his face. “He’s on contract right now, but it ends in October, and he’s getting a considerable pension at the end of it. She won’t be without at least one of us, constantly.”

Dirk smiles weakly at him, grabbing a cracker and stuffing it in his mouth. While Oz has always been bad at figuring out Dirk’s thoughts without any bizarre event following them, Norton’s a dab hand at reading his mind. It’s unnerving, and often, Dirk feels like the only son to his own brother and his husband.

Or, he _had_.

“She’s lucky,” he tells Norton.

“She is,” Norton agrees, smiling. “She’ll have _you_ as a godfather.”

Dirk snorts. “Didn’t you say you were reconsidering that?”

Norton waves him away. “Don’t make me regret it, love,” he says, wincing. “Oh, and please act like you’re surprised when he tells you next week; he was quite excited to be the one to break the news.”

Dirk feigns shock. “Oz, _excited_ about something that doesn’t involve the prospect of violence?” he says sarcastically. “I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from him.”

Norton rolls his eyes. “Thank you,” he says pointedly. “Now, you’ve got your snacks. What was it that you needed my help with?”

Dirk grins brightly, reaching over the other end of the sofa and grabbing the pile of files overspilling with paper that he’d brought home from the parlour. He dumps one of the files in front of him and Norton eyes it warily.

“How much do you know about American tax filing?” Dirk inquires, and Norton groans.

\---

The next morning starts off pretty normally.

Their business hours is technically 9 am to 9 pm, daily, but Tina usually only comes downstairs around 10.30 am, so Todd’s usually waiting outside by 10.20 while Dirk makes his appearance at 12 noon, unless he has an appointment - which is never. He’s only late because he stops by the park near his flat on his way to the parlour every day, and he talks to the nice black man that operates the hotdog stand there for about half an hour before feeding the ducks at the pond, which could take up to anywhere between one to two hours, depending on how many ducks and children are there when he arrives.

Dirk’s in the middle of tossing bread crumbs into the pond, periodically passing them to a little boy standing next to him - _Francis_ , he’d said his name was when Dirk had first met him - and the two of them are giggling as two ducks fight over the crumbs on the lake when he hears something crashing loudly onto the ground behind them, followed by a man cursing.

Dirk turns around to see him, tall and thin, with dark hair and sharp features, crouching down on the park’s walkway beyond the grass that surrounds the pond. There’re what seems to piles and piles of files scattered around him and he looks so miserable that Dirk feels bad for him.

“I think you can take over from here, Francis,” Dirk tells Francis, passing the bag of crumbs he’s holding to the little boy.

Francis nods, smiling. “Thanks, Mr. Gently,” he says, grabbing another handful of crumbs from inside the bag and tossing them onto the lake. “He’s kind of silly, but he’s a nice guy,” he adds, and Dirk raises a brow down at him.

“Who?” he asks curiously.

“That man you’re going to help,” Francis says simply. In a sage voice that sounds older than he looks, he adds, “You’ll help him a lot.”

Dirk grins down at Francis. “Thank you for the advice,” he tells him sincerely, and Francis blushes, ducking his head with a pleased smile.

Dirk leaves him and makes his way over to the unfortunate stranger, and starts helping him pick up his fallen files. The man startles, pausing to look at Dirk with alarm, and Dirk idly thinks he looks cute like that.

“Thanks,” the man says as Dirk passes him the files he’s picked up, and they both straighten back on their feet.

“Not a problem,” Dirk says, shrugging.

“No, really, that was pretty nice of you,” the man insists distractedly, trying to balance the files in his arms.

“You looked like you needed it,” Dirk tells him. Squinting, he eyes the man intently and asks, “You don’t, by any chance, also need any massages, do you?”

The man pauses in his task and his brows furrow in confusion as he looks at Dirk. “Uh, no?” he answers hesitantly.

“Really?” Dirk asks. “Because from your answer, you seem pretty not sure about that.”

The man makes a face, then, and he looks at Dirk like he’s pretty fucking weird. “I think I’m sure I don’t need a massage,” he says, this time sounding more firm.

Dirk nods. “Alright, then,” he says, digging into his jacket to pull out a card and placing it gingerly on top of the files in the man’s arms. “Well, I’m a Holistic Masseuse, so if you do find that you need one, just drop by my parlour.”

The man looks down at the card and then at Dirk. “Uh, okay?” he says, still looking at Dirk oddly.

Dirk smiles and gives him a little wave. “Well, I should get going before Todd calls the police again,” he says, backing away. “Goodbye, file man.”

Dirk reaches the parlour five minutes past noon, and Todd looks up so fast at the door, Dirk thinks he might’ve given himself whiplash.

“Why are you late?” Todd asks, looking grumpy, but Dirk knows he’s just hiding his worry.

“Some idiot dropped a bunch of his things at the park, and I stopped to help,” Dirk tells him, walking up to the reception and leaning against the counter.

Todd pushes a takeaway cup of tea at him across the surface and Dirk takes it with a nod.

“Is he going to need a massage?” Todd asks, sounding more curious.

Dirk hums as he sips at the tea, which is lukewarm at best, as usual. “He might,” Dirk tells him. “I’m not sure. It was an odd encounter.”

Todd snorts. “Everything with you is an odd encounter,” he points out.

“Admittedly,” Dirk concedes. Then he makes a face and points an accusatory finger at Todd, saying, “You told Farah about the walk-ins!”

Todd shoots him an unimpressed stare, shrugging. “She asked,” he says. “What, did you want me to lie to her?”

“A little warning would have been nice,” Dirk grumbles at him. “She needs a Tina Special, I think. Is Tina feeling better today?”

Todd nods. “She came in high as fuck, but she’s functioning,” Todd says. “Also, don’t eat the brownies in the pantry unless you wanna be tripping.”

Dirk nods solemnly. “Duly noted,” he says. “Pencil Farah in as soon as possible.” He looks at Todd, and adds, “Could you maybe also help me pass a file to Farah?”

Todd laughs. “Hell no,” he says, smirking. “I told you to do them last week, but you were too busy chasing after that cat.”

Dirk groans. “First of all, you’re a _terrible_ assistant,” he tells Todd. “And secondly, it was a _kitten_. You really need to get your facts straight, Todd.”

“Speak for yourself,” Todd retorts. “I’m a receptionist, not an assistant. It’s in my contract.”

“You have a contract?” Dirk asks, surprised.

Todd rolls his eyes at him. “Farah drew up contracts for me and Tina last year, Dirk, you should know,” he says pointedly. “ _You_ signed them.”

Dirk’s sure he hadn’t signed any contracts, and shrugs; he’d probably given them to Oz, then. Last year had been a strictly-no-paperwork year because Dirk had been tied to a recurring client that had been suffering from swollen lymphs. The man had been been the head of security for the eldest son of the biggest clothes empire in the city, and Dirk had ended up becoming part-time family counselor to them because the said son was apparently gay and hadn’t come out to his overbearing mother yet.

It had been an _interesting_ year, to put it nicely. Dirk still gets postcards from the son, Silas, and his then-boyfriend - Poncho or Panto, or something pretentious like that - and now-husband, which is nice. He likes seeing happy endings.

“How’s Amanda, by the way?” Dirk asks Todd, pulling out of his thoughts. “Isn’t it her birthday soon?”

Todd gives Dirk a flat look. “Her birthday was last month, you were there, Dirk,” Todd says, but adds, “But since you’re asking, apparently she and the Rowdy 3 are ‘officialising’ their relationship in October. It’s going to involve a romp in the woods, a lot of drinking and smashing things to bits and also terrorizing the wildlife. We’ve been invited.”

“Fun times,” Dirk remarks wryly. “She hasn’t had any attacks, though, right?”

Todd’s expression softens as he shakes his head. “Completely pararibulitis free,” he affirms. In a quieter, gentle tone, he adds, “Thanks to you.”

Dirk smiles brightly at him. “My hands are all yours if you ever change your mind,” he says.

Todd grimaces, but nods. “Can we not talk about it right now?” he says awkwardly, rubbing at his chest.

Dirk shrugs. “Whatever keeps you sane, Todd,” he says. “But here’s your daily reminder that you’re _not_ an asshole!”

“Consider me reminded for today,” Todd retorts dryly.

Dirk gives him a thumbs up with both hands, except, he’d forgotten that he’d been holding the cup of tea in one of them and ends up spilling it all over the counter and they both stare as they watch the dark liquid stream across the surface between them.

“I… think I should go to my office,” Dirk says after a moment of silence.

Todd sighs. “I think you should,” he says, standing up and opening the cupboards behind the counter to pull out a towel that he keeps in there for exactly these kinds of Dirkcidents, as Dirk had heard him call them.

Later, sitting back at his desk in the back office, Dirk puts his bag on it and starts rummaging through it for the file of reports Norton had helped him understand the previous day.

He’s confused to find that the bag is empty. He’s not usually one to bring bags around, so really, the thing had been there just for the sake of carrying the file. The fact that it’s empty completely defeats the purpose of even having the bag with him in the first place.

He tries to remember whether he had even taken the file with him this morning and recalls with utmost clarity that he had. He’d been holding the file in his hands when he’d been double checking that he’d had his keys and his phone and everything else he’d needed, and then he’d run back into his flat when he’d realized he’d forgotten the bag to put the file in. When he’d come out, he’d still been holding the file, and he remembers still holding it up until he’d reached the park.

After talking with the hotdog stand owner, Dirk had squeezed the file under his arm to hold the bag of breadcrumbs he’d gotten from the owner and to feed the ducks with Francis and then-

Dirk remembers with a groan.

He’d mixed the file with the files of the man at the park, he’s almost _sure_ of it.

“Farah’s going to kill me,” he says miserably to himself, and then there’s a knock on his door.

“Dirk?” Farah calls, and Dirk shrinks into himself.

 _Goodbye, cruel world_ , he think forlornly as the door swings open.

\---

“You know what _you_ need?” Tina asks Dirk, waving one of her brownies in his face.

Dirk stares at it sadly. “Sex?” he asks.

Tina chokes out a laugh. “No, dude, that’s too basic for you,” she says, taking a bite of the brownie and swallowing loudly after she’s chewed. “You need to _relax_.”

Dirk scowls at her. “I _am_ relaxed,” he says, incredulous. “I’m _so_ relaxed. I’m one hundred percent the most relaxed relaxer in the history of relaxation.”

Tina shakes her head. “No, no, you got it all wrong, man,” she says, waving her hands in the air. “You’re _easy-going_ , but you’re all, like, tensed up and shit. You need to _let go_.”

“How so?” Dirk asks her curiously, trying to understand where she’s going with the conversation.

Tina leans in closer to him and says in a quiet, almost conspiratorial tone, “You’ve been waiting for one of your _clients_ to come, right? But no one’s been coming. And that’s got you so _on edge_.” She grins and flops backwards. “You need to stop waiting and just _go for it_ , man.”

Dirk’s brows furrow as he tries to understand, but he really doesn’t and Tina’s lost all interest in their conversation, now looking at the brownie like it’s the only thing in the world, so Dirk just sighs and flops back along with her.

They’re sitting on the beat-up old sofa in the pantry, which Tina had found in a yard sale almost ten years ago and had refused to part from since because, according to her, the sofa’s ‘seen things’. It’s got history, she’d said to him, and a personality shaped from that history. Dirk had thought that that had been one of the most romantic things anyone had ever said about a piece of furniture, and so they’d dragged it back to the parlour together across the city in the middle of the night, because no cab driver was willing to let it into their cabs. It had taken hours, and they’d almost gotten mugged twice, but it had been so completely worth it when they’d passed out on it early the next morning, drunk and stoned out of their minds.

Dirk’s sure it’s got a lot more personality now, after years of being at the parlour, and it shows, because Dirk’s very sure that it’s not just his imagination whenever he sinks into its worn out cushions that it feels like being hugged by a loving old grandmother. Even the sharp spring that pokes at you from the corner of its armrest is like a love bite, and Dirk would rather be skinned alive than let anyone throw the sofa out, despite whatever Farah tells them about health hazards and unsanitary conditions.

“Speaking of waiting,” Dirk says, staring up at the ceiling. “When are you going to tell Farah? I think she could use a bit of a distraction these days.”

“Oh, that’s another mess altogether,” Tina groans next to him. “She’s like, so intense about the manager thing. I don’t know if she’ll take me seriously if I asked her out. Or worse; she might turn me down because of some lame ‘employer-employee’ thing!”

She makes a sound between a groan and a sob, and Dirk reaches over blindly to pat at her hand. “You could convince her,” he says encouragingly. “Farah’s stubborn, but she cares about you.”

“She cares about her job,” Tina says miserably, grabbing Dirk’s hand and squeezing it as she takes another bite of her brownie. “This is getting me down.”

“Change the subject,” Dirk suggests.

“What was that thing about the file that pissed Farah off last week?” Tina asks.

Dirk groans. “A different subject, please?” he says pleadingly.

“Okay, dude, but you owe me an explanation,” Tina says graciously. “Anyway, some dude came in yesterday and asked about you.”

Dirk perks up, turning his head to look at her interestedly. “What did he want?” he asks. “Did he ask me by name?”

“Yeah,” Tina says, shrugging. “He asked if you were around, and I said no, because you weren’t. And then I asked if he wanted my services, and he looked completely freaked, dude, you should’ve seen his face.” Tina laughs hard as she reminisces, wiping a tear from her eye with the hand that’s still holding the half-finished brownie and smearing a trail of crumbs on her face in the process. “Then he ran out like he was being chased by the cops.”

Dirk hums thoughtfully. “Did he say his name?” he asks.

“Matthew? Michael? Mark?” Tina says, thinking. “I don’t know, something with an ‘m’. He looked like he could use a massage, dude. Neck more tensed than a Kardashian without a credit card.”

“Well, if he does need a massage, he’ll be back,” Dirk says confidently.

“Damn right,” Tina agrees.

Todd comes in just then, looking at them with a betrayed look on his face.

“You guys started without me?” he asks, indignant.

“Dude, I thought you were _here_ the whole time!” Tina gasps, straightening up from the sofa. “I’m so sorry, man!”

Todd scoffs, striding forward and grabbing the brownie out of Tina’s hand before burrowing himself into the sofa between her and Dirk and taking a bite of it.

“Farah’s still pissed at you,” he tells Dirk, and Dirk sighs, leaning into Todd’s side.

“I’m concerned that this is a recurring theme in my life recently,” he confesses miserably against Todd’s arm. “Do you think I could get away with acquiring a new identity and living on the run?”

“She’d still find you,” Tina pipes up, wrapping her arms around Todd and leaning into his other side. “Dude, you’re like, the perfect cuddle size.”

“You said that before,” Todd says - but he sounds less grumpy than usual - and leans back against the sofa, bringing the other two with him. “Also, I agree with Tina.”

Dirk groans and grabs Todd’s wrist as he’s about to take another bite of the brownie. “Give me some of that,” Dirk grumbles, pulling Todd’s hand towards him until it’s close enough for him to take a bite. “Has it always tasted this bad?” he asks as he lets go of Todd’s wrist and chews on the brownie.

“Yes,” Todd and Tina answer in unison, and Tina adds, “But it feels so _fucking_ good.”

\---

The next day, Dirk’s sitting at the reception desk in the afternoon because Todd and Tina had gone out to buy their monthly supplies, with Farah supervising them.

He’s idly playing a game on Todd’s computer when the doorbell chimes someone’s entrance and he peers over the counter to see a familiar stranger poking their head in and looking around cautiously.

“File man!” Dirk cries out, standing up, and the stranger jumps, knocking his head against the door’s glass panelling with a hiss of pain. “Just the person I’ve been hoping would drop by!”

The man gets a wide-eyed look on his face, before dawning recognition, and he steps inside, rubbing at his head.

“I thought I had the wrong place,” the man says, walking towards the reception. He stops in front of the counter and digs through his bag before pulling out a file and putting it carefully on the counter. “Your name was on this, so I thought I’d come return it.”

Dirk squeals as he picks the file up, waving it in the air. “Yes! Thank you!” he gushes. “Farah nearly killed me when I told her what happened! You’ve saved my life!”

The man ducks his head, looking embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says. “I would’ve come earlier but work was busy.”

Dirk nods, waving his apology away. “No, thank you, really,” Dirk says, grinning. “Let me give you a massage to repay you.”

The man blushes brightly then, eyes widening. “Uh, I don’t- that’s really not necessary,” he stammers out, clutching at the strap of his bag tightly with both hands. “I’m not-” he starts, pausing and making a face. “I mean, no offense to your business, or anything, but I don’t really feel, um, _clean_ , accepting services like that in exchange for payment.”

Dirk tilts his head at him, confused. “But I’m offering to do it for free,” he points out. “As a thank you. And everything here is fully sanitized, so it’s _extra_ clean.”

The man’s blush darkens further, and he shakes his head almost frantically. “That’s really not necessary,” he says in a rush. “Um, not that you’re not handsome, or attractive, or anything- or- um, you’re really cute, honestly- just- a thank you is good enough!”

“Are you _sure_?” Dirk presses, leaning forward over the counter and peering at the man intently. “Because it’s really no trouble. And if you’re pressed for time, I can be done in half an hour, tops.”

The man steps back from the counter, glancing around nervously and very firmly not looking at Dirk. “Y-yeah, yeah,” he stammers, reaching behind him for the door. “It’s- I really should go, now, um, thanks for the offer, and sorry that I got you into trouble.”

And then he’s gone, and Dirk stares out the door forlornly.

“What an odd man,” he mutters to himself as he sits back down. He looks at the file the man had passed back to him and flips through it, shocked to find that the paperwork has been perfectly ordered and rearranged by date and importance.

There’re even colourful, neon sticky notes with scribbles of instructions and comments, and Dirk thinks he might be a little bit in love as he hastily starts correcting the highlighted parts so that he can give the file to Farah when they get back.

\---

“He _rearranged_ your paperwork?” Norton asks incredulously as he chops the vegetables at the island counter in his and Priest’s condo.

Dirk’s tossing the salad as he adds the bits of vegetables that Norton’s done with, nodding to his question.

“It was very kind of him,” Dirk says with a smile. “Farah was thoroughly impressed.”

“So am I,” Norton says. “What kind of a boring sod would do such a thing?”

“The kind that drops files in a park in the early hours of the morning,” Dirk replies.

“Why are you always attracting the weird ones?” Norton asks rhetorically, shaking his head. “Remember that bloke, the one with the obsession with that dead rock star?”

“Gordon Rimmer,” Dirk says. “He _is_ the dead rockstar. He’d gotten sick and that’s why he’d staged his death, remember? He’s coming back under a new name, he’s actually quite fit now.”

“Of course,” Norton says wryly. “Done. Bring the bowl to the table and wash your hands, love, I’ll clean up the mess in here.”

“Yes, mum,” Dirk says, and Norton shoots him a dirty look as Dirk makes his escape to the dining room.

“Dinner’s ready!” Dirk shouts down the hall as he goes to the bathroom to wash his hands.

He hears Oz come out of his and Norton’s room, and meets the man in the hallway as he comes out of the toilet. Oz ruffles his hair absently as he passes by him and Dirk glares at him in protest as he follows him to the dining room. Dirk sits across from Oz as Norton enters, carrying a steaming plate of a meaty stew and putting it in the centre of the table, and Dirk makes a disgusted face as Oz pecks him on the lips briefly before Norton sits down next to him.

“ _You_ called me mum,” Norton tells him pointedly when he catches the look on his face.

“Yes, so please keep this dinner at PG-13,” Dirk retorts. “I don’t particularly want to know what it’s like to watch my parents snogging.”

“Speaking of,” Oz cuts in, interrupting them. “Scott called me last week and asked how you were doing.”

Dirk rolls his eyes and stares down at his plate as Norton fills it up. “Fine,” he mutters glumly.

“You _could_ talk to him, you know,” Oz says pointedly. “He’s worried about you.”

“He wants me to go back to uni and be a doctor,” Dirk says with another roll of his eyes. “And anyway, he knows where I am. He could come visit, but he never does.”

“He doesn’t want to _force_ an interaction with you,” Oz says reasonably.

“Can we _not_ talk about family during a family dinner?” Dirk says, shifting in his seat. “Besides, he thinks you’re my sugar daddy because he doesn’t know how else I managed to buy a building and open a massage parlour with zero funds of my own. How does _that_ feel, Oz?”

Oz just grins sharply at him. “You’re a pretty shitty sugar baby,” he says.

Dirk gasps, feigning offense. “It’s hard to be a good sugar baby when you’ve got your own baby to fill that role in your life!” he protests.

“I _work_ for my keep, I’ll have you know,” Norton tells him as he eats. “My paycheck’s bigger than your brother’s. If anything, _I’m_ the sugar daddy to the both of you.”

Dirk and Oz share a look before they both turn to Norton and Dirk says in a whiny tone, “Daddy, I want another pony!”

Norton’s answer is a glob of gravy tossed in Dirk’s face, and it escalates quickly into a food fight which Dirk only wins because Oz and Norton had somehow started making out in the middle of it and Dirk had smartly decided that it was his cue to leave. He grabs his - thankfully untouched - plate and eats his dinner out on their balcony, watching the lights of the city at night and thinking about the odd file man and his organizational skills.

\---

The file man comes back to the parlour a week later.

Dirk’s alone again, though he’s not quite sure why this time. He vaguely remembers Tina and a little incident with candles - _not_ a Dirkcident, thank you - and Todd shouting frantically and Farah being the only one still maintaining some semblance of calm, but Dirk had been mostly in his office all afternoon and wasn’t involved in any of it. It had sounded fun, though, and he kind of regrets not being in the front with them when it had happened.

The file man enters while Dirk is painting his nails with Tina’s nail polish which he’d found suspiciously inside Todd’s drawer - it’s neon orange and goes nicely with Dirk’s yellow jacket - and he looks up as he hears the bell chiming. The file man is standing inside this time when Dirk sees him, but he looks as nervous as ever.

“Hi?” he says hesitantly when Dirk looks at him, and Dirk smiles brightly back.

“Hiii!” he says, waving with the hand that’s still holding the nail polish’s brush. The action causes some of it to splatter across the counter and Dirk makes a face. “Nuts,” he says, capping the nail polish, and looking at the splatters with a frown.

“That’s, um, a nice colour,” file man says as he approaches the counter, looking down at Dirk’s hands.

Dirk grins brightly at him, forgetting about the splatters. “Thank you,” he says. “Have you changed your mind about that massage?”

File man blushes brightly, just like last time, and Dirk almost backtracks his question because he doesn’t want to scare him away so fast.

But before Dirk can say anything, file man says sheepishly, “About that. Um, I- I owe you an apology.”

Dirk’s brows rise and he looks at the man with confusion. “Why?” he asks.

Rubbing at the back of his neck, file man looks away and explains, stutteringly, “I- There was some misunderstanding on my part, and um- I might have thought- it’s just that the way you said _holistic_ masseuse, I’d assumed- I mean, it sounded kind of _fishy_ \- not that you _are_ , that is, and there’s really nothing wrong if you _were_ a brothel-”

“A brothel?” Dirk says, interrupting him. “You thought we were a brothel?”

File man’s blush darkens further, and he winces guiltily, looking at Dirk with an apologetic smile. “Sorry?” he says. “It’s just- you’re really beautiful and I thought- it was the way you said it, but then I looked it up and I- your parlour’s got pretty good reviews, actually, and that’s when I realized I was being a really shallow, judgmental asshole. So, um, I’m really sorry.”

He finishes with a nervous laugh and Dirk smiles kindly at him, not missing the fact that the man had called him _beautiful_ , which is endearingly sweet.

“You’re not the first person to think so,” Dirk tells him, shrugging. “I think it’s the whole ‘putting my hands all over you’ thing. But how else do you give a massage, yes?”

File man laughs, a lot less nervously, and his blush fades slightly.

“Did you really just come here to apologize?” Dirk asks him, curious.

File man shrugs. “Yes?” he says with uncertainty. “I felt really bad about the way I behaved.”

Dirk scoffs. “I’ve had worse,” he tells him, and it’s true. “There was a woman with a cross and a picket sign and everything, and her daughter _might_ have let slip that Tina does more than just massages.”

File man winces sympathetically. “Is Tina the blond?”

Dirk nods. “That’s her,” he says. “She told me you came while I was out, but I wasn’t sure it was really you.”

File man nods, and then he reaches a hand out over the counter and Dirk takes it with a smile.

“Michael Assistent,” file man says, smiling back.

“Dirk Gently,” Dirk replies, adding as he lets go of Michael’s hand, “Assistant? Is that a title?”

Michael makes a face, shaking his head with a sigh. “It’s my last name,” he says grudgingly. “Assistent, with an ‘e’.”

Dirk huffs out a short laugh. “That must get very confusing,” he remarks.

“You have _no_ idea,” Michael groans out with another, long-suffering, sigh. “It’s worse because the person I work with treats me more like an assistant than a partner.”

Dirk briefly thinks of how Michael had organized Dirk’s file before actually going to the trouble of returning it to him, and the fact that he’d come to the parlour again just to apologize for a misunderstanding Dirk hadn’t even known about, and Dirk agrees completely with the treatment by Michael’s partner. He seems to _naturally_ behave like an assistant - and that’s only in the two times that Dirk’s met him; he wonders how assist-y he is on a daily basis - and it’s probably by some cosmic design that he’s been saddled with that name. Dirk doesn’t think Michael would appreciate that, though, so he keeps his opinion to himself - Todd had taught him that some truths were better left unspoken, because people can be ‘sensitive dicks’.

“Are you in law enforcement?” Dirk asks curiously instead.

Michael looks caught for a moment, and then hesitantly says, “Sort of. It involves security.”

Dirk nods. “Intriguing,” he says with a grin. “Well, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Mr. Assistent. You reorganized that file. It saved me a stern talking to from my manager.”

Michael blushes again, looking embarrassed. “It was nothing,” he says, smiling. “I had time, and it was a huge mess in there.”

“Don’t remind me,” Dirk says with a wince. “I’m very much a masseuse and very less a businessman. Or a file organizer. Or any activities that involve using my hands for things other than massaging.”

Michael laughs, and it sounds very sweet and genuine, and Dirk finds himself wanting to hear more of it.

“What _is_ a holistic masseuse, anyway?” Michael asks. “I looked it up, but I didn’t really understand it.”

Dirk grins wider at that, pleased. “I’m glad you asked, Michael,” Dirk starts, standing up. “You see, the term ‘holistic’ refers to my convictions about the fundamental interconnectedness of all things in the body; I do not concern myself with such petty things as prescription drugs, telltale symptoms of diseases and inane viral infections. I see the solution to each ailment as being detectable in the pattern and web of the whole. Once I take on a client, I am intrinsically connected to their bodily functions, and will eventually cure them of any physical afflictions surrounding them by sort of doing whatever to their bodies with my hands.”

Michael’s brows furrow in confusion at Dirk’s explanation. “Wait, so, you’re like, a witch doctor, or something?” he asks.

Dirk shrugs. “If that’s easier to understand,” he says. “I just massage people, and whatever’s making them sick, it’s gone.”

“That sounds suspiciously like magic,” Michael remarks seriously.

“Some days, it seems like it,” Dirk agrees.

Michael stares at him for a moment before shaking his head, smiling. “You’re really something else,” he says.

“I could give you a massage,” Dirk tells him. “On the house, considering how much trouble I’ve put you through. Then you can see for yourself.”

Michael blushes again, curiously enough, and shakes his head. “Maybe another time,” he says, gesturing over his shoulder and adding, “I’ve actually got to go.”

Dirk’s face falls at that, and he nods. “I’m sorry for keeping you, then.”

Michael shakes his head. “No, no, it’s been- it was really nice talking to you, Dirk,” he says, smiling. “I’ll try to come back soon.”

Dirk smiles back brightly. “Then I’ll be waiting for you, Mr. Assistent,” he tells him, and Michael blushes again as he stumbles towards the door.

“Bye, Dirk,” he says as he exits.

\---

Michael doesn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that.

Or the day after the day after that.

Soon enough, a whole week passes by, and Michael still doesn’t come.

Dirk finds himself feeling uncharacteristically sad and depressed about it.

Oz had also left town for his job, and Norton’s been busy with getting Bart settled into their condo. He’s an absolute terror when he’s got his hands full, so Dirk’s avoided him all week, and he’s tempted to talk to Todd or Tina or even Farah about Michael, but he fears they’ll give Michael trouble if the man comes by when Dirk’s not around.

Dirk loves his friends to pieces, but they’re quite overprotective of him, which he absolutely can’t fathom why. Even Oz doesn’t keep tabs on where Dirk is or what Dirk’s doing, as long as he checks in with Norton every once in a while to make sure he’s still alive, and Dirk’s once told his friends that he’s survived the earlier twenty something years of his life just fine without them, to which they had just given him a patronizing look.

Dirk thinks he should get more friends. Nicer friends that don’t scare off potential significant others in his life, or tell him not to microwave the box _with_ the pizza in it, even though the microwave is big enough to fit the box into it. Or maybe he should just pay for a therapist, so he can have someone to talk to about Michael.

Dirk’s searching for therapists in the vicinity of his flat on Todd’s computer - he’s alone; again, and again, he has no idea why - when the bell chimes and he looks up boredly to see who it is.

He’s pleasantly surprised to find that it’s Michael, who gives him a little wave as he walks towards the reception desk.

“Michael!” Dirk says, smiling wide. “How nice of you to drop by!”

Michael ducks his head, looking embarrassed. “Yeah, I was planning to come by earlier, but work got in the way,” he says sheepishly. “How are you?”

“Bored out of my mind,” Dirk confesses. “Everyone’s gone out, and I have _no idea_ where they went.”

Michael’s brows rise in surprise, and he glances around. “How many of you are there, actually?” he asks.

“Four,” Dirk answers. “Including me. There’s Tina, our receptionist Todd and our manager Farah.”

Michael looks impressed. “That’s really few for a whole shop,” he says. “Is business not doing well?”

Dirk shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “I only take _some_ clients, those that really _need_ me, you see. Tina’s our only masseuse that takes walk-ins or regular appointments. We’re doing fine.”

“Oh,” Michael says. “Wait, so if I were a walk-in, and came in right now, and asked you for a massage? You would say no?”

Dirk nods before stopping and shaking his head. “Well, if you _needed_ me, I would _know_ , but if you didn’t, then I would tell you we weren’t taking any customers.”

“How do you make a profit, then?” Michael asks, intrigued. “You’ve been open almost ten years, I checked your website.”

Dirk smiles, pleased to hear Michael had looked at their website, and shrugs. “We’re doing fine,” he repeats. “I didn’t open the shop to make money, anyway.”

Michael raises a brow at that. “Why _did_ you, then?” he asks.

“Because I felt like that’s what I needed to do,” Dirk answers simply, and Michael stares at him for a long moment.

He breaks out into a smile, shaking his head and chuckling. “You are _really_ something else,” he says, sounding awed.

Dirk tries not to preen at that, asking instead, “So, Mr. Assistent, are you here to redeem your free massage?”

Michael blushes -  and Dirk idly thinks that he does that far too much, but he looks cute when he’s red, so it’s not Dirk’s loss - but smiles. “No, actually,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck and ducking his head. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch with me?” he asks quickly.

Dirk smiles widely at him, standing up. “Why, Mr. Assistent, are you asking me out on a date?” he asks teasingly.

Michael’s blush darkens, and he ducks his head again, but he nods. “If that’s what you want,” he says, shrugging helplessly.

Dirk comes out from behind the reception and boldly grabs a hold of Michael’s hand, and Michael’s eyes widen as he stares at their hands together, but he doesn’t pull away and Dirk smiles at him.

“I know a wonderful café just down the street,” Dirk tells him, pulling him out the parlour doors. “They give me free cakes in exchange for Tina’s massages. The owner also had a banged up hip, but she recovered after I gave her a massage and she’s been running around like she’s twenty ever since.”

\---

They’re sitting at the terrace section of Boreton’s Bakery an hour later, full with sandwiches and cakes and good tea.

Dirk finds out that Michael’s his age, and that he’d moved out to the city after graduating from the police academy. He’d worked up to detective at the local precinct before he’d enlisted, and then was honorably discharged at rank Lieutenant just a couple of years ago. He’d been working for a private security firm ever since.

“Why all the enforcement?” Dirk asks him as he’s taking bites of his second slice of lemon meringue cake. “You don’t exactly strike me as the intimidating officer type.”

Michael laughs at that, shaking his head. “I’ve always been told that I just _look_ too nice,” he confides. “But yeah, enforcement’s not really my thing.” He leans closer to Dirk over the table and whispers, “Wanna know a secret?”

Dirk swallows the bite of cake in his mouth and nods eagerly. Michael grins, self-deprecating, and says, “I actually joined the police and the army to find aliens.”

Dirk gapes at him, eyes wide. “ _Really_?” he huffs, unable to stop himself from giggling. “ _Aliens_?”

“Really,” Michael says, leaning back in his seat and smiling wryly.

“Well, _did_ you find any?” Dirk asks him, curious.

Michael shakes his head, sighing. “Not a single one,” he admits. “Not even an unexplained mystery. Everything, every crime, every murder, every report; it was all humans and logic and scientific explanations.” He sighs again. “I gave up after the army. They got me assigned to this defunct division headed by an egotistical, power-hungry lady with a boner for weapons-trading, so I left.”

Dirk winces sympathetically. “My brother-in-law used to work for MI6,” Dirk tells him, and Michael perks up interestedly. “He told me all the aliens in the world got dumped in England because only the weather there could keep them at bay.”

Michael gapes at him. “For real?” he asks.

Dirk shrugs. “I don’t think he was lying,” he says. “But I’ve never met one before, and Norton says I wouldn’t want to. Some of them are stupider than a shoe.”

Michael laughs. “Sounds like someone else I know,” he says, shaking his head. “I guess I should’ve gone to England, huh.”

“We never would’ve met, though,” Dirk says with a face and Michael blushes and ducks his head, embarrassed.

“That’s true,” he agrees.

Dirk grins, pleased with himself at garnering that reaction, and puts his fork down, his cake finished. “Do you like what you’re doing now?” Dirk asks him. “I mean, you mentioned your partner being mean to you, but why stay if you’re not enjoying yourself, yes?”

A thoughtful look falls on Michael’s face, and he shrugs. “It’s not _bad_ , I guess,” he says. “I like it, and I’m good at it. And my partner’s always getting us into trouble with the higher ups because he’s got an issue with authority figures or something, but he’s actually a pretty okay guy outside of work.” He pauses, thinking, and then says in a content tone, “It’s definitely the most exciting and satisfying job I’ve had so far, even without the aliens.”

“That sounds fantastic,” Dirk agrees before squinting at Michael. “And there’s a _but_ coming there somewhere,” he prods.

Michael smiles sheepishly. “You’re really good at guessing, huh?” he asks rhetorically, and Dirk nods, pleased. “Well, recently, I’ve gotten another, maybe better offer. But I’ve got to throw my partner under the bus to get it.” Michael frowns, looking conflicted. “I just- I don’t want to be that kind of guy.”

“Then don’t,” Dirk says simply. Michael looks startled at that, and Dirk continues. “You like your partner, you like your job. You seem considerably happier than half the people I know, and I can’t imagine how much better your better offer is, but you’re also not the kind of person to trod on someone else’s life just to achieve something great in your own. So, don’t do it.”

Michael stares at him for a long moment before he breaks out into a dopey smile that makes Dirk’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re right,” Michael says, nodding. “I don’t even know if the offer really _is_ better, considering it’s practically the same job, just with a different company.” He pauses, and then adds with another small, grateful smile, “Thank you, Dirk.”

Dirk feels his own cheeks heat up with how sincere Michael sounds saying that, and he has to actively fight down the urge to squeal with joy. He’s saved the trouble by Michael’s phone ringing and the man curses as he stands and digs through his pants pocket, regretfully mouthing a ‘sorry’ at Dirk before he walks away from their table as he answers it.

Dirk can still faintly hear him, though, despite not really actually intending to eavesdrop.

“...told you I was going,” Dirk hears. “Yes, but- no way, they told you not to- are you serious right now? Oz, c’mon- think about your _family_! God, you stubborn asshole- you’re really lucky I’m on a date- what, no, you are _not_ \- if you triangulate my location with my own gear, I’ll- Oz? _Oz_? You god damn…”

Michael wanders too far for Dirk to hear anymore, at least not without really actually trying, and Dirk plays with the spoon of his tea as he waits patiently for Michael to return.

He comes back almost five minutes later, looking decidedly less relaxed than he had before.

“Dirk, I’m _so_ sorry, but I have to go,” Michael tells him, looking like a kicked puppy, and Dirk stands up, waving him away.

“It’s fine, I understand,” he tells him. “We can do this again another time.”

Michael’s eyes widen and he looks more surprised now than stressed out, and Dirk feels his own chest clench painfully as he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant, “Unless of course, you _don’t_ want to?”

Michael shakes his head so hard that Dirk thinks his neck might come right off his torso, saying, “No, no, _of course_ I want to, please. I just- I didn’t think _you_ would.”

Dirk scoffs. “Why?” he asks seriously. “Because you like aliens or that you apparently work for a shady organisation that likes to interrupt fantastic lunch dates?”

Michael makes a face, looking like he’s not quite sure whether to take his words seriously or not and Dirk rolls his eyes.

“I like you for both of those things,” he clarifies before waving Michael away again. “Now go, before you get into trouble for being late or whatever.”

Michael blushes at the half-confession, but smiles and rushes off, jumping over the fencing that surrounds the terrace in an impressive show of acrobatic skill which has Dirk gaping after him as he lands elegantly on the other side, and continues sprinting with barely a pause. A low, sharp whistle behind Dirk has him jumping, and Dirk turns to see Susie Boreton standing a few feet away, wiggling her brows at him.

“He’s a keeper,” she tells Dirk and Dirk smiles smugly before glaring playfully at her.

“Hands off,” he warns her. “I saw him first.”

Susie shrugs, sighing. “All the handsome ones are gay,” she says as she starts clearing their table.

\---

Fifteen successful - _uninterrupted_ \- lunch dates in the course of three weeks later, Michael finally asks Dirk out on a dinner date. It comes as a surprise when Michael had been more nervous than usual when he’d asked Dirk, because Dirk hadn’t thought there was a significant difference between the two and he’s been perfectly fine with skipping out of the parlour to spend half the day with Michael so far, but Norton’s unreasonably excited when he tells him about.

Dirk’s sitting on Oz and Norton’s living room sofa, watching Bart draw on the floor while Norton’s preparing lunch for them.

“This is me,” Bart tells Dirk, holding up the drawing she’d been working on.

It’s a shoddily drawn stick figure with curly hair and what looks like a knife dripping with red drops of blood, and Dirk squints at it before looking at Bart.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Dirk tells her, nodding. “Very uncanny resemblance.”

Bart grins at him crookedly, showing off the gap between her bottom teeth where Norton had told Dirk she’d knocked out playing ball with Oz, and Dirk grins back at her with a thumbs up. She goes back to drawing some more, just as Norton comes back to join him at the sofa, a tray of mugs and sandwiches between his hands.

“What were you saying about this Michael you’ve been seeing, Dirk?” Norton asks him distractedly as he adds, to Bart, “Bart, dear, come and have a drink, you’ve been at that for hours, now.”

Bart huffs, but stands up and waddles over to them, taking one of the mugs from Norton and taking a long gulp from it and passing the mug back to Norton.

“Thank you, No’tun,” she says politely before turning around and waddling back to her drawing and crayons.

Norton smiles fondly after her before turning back to Dirk. “I’ve been trying to get her to call me daddy, but I think she’s still getting used to having parents again,” he tells Dirk.

Dirk nods understandingly, even though he doesn’t think that’s true. Dirk had been about Bart’s age when he’d been fostered, and he was already five when Scott had adopted him. He’d never called Scott ‘father’ or ‘dad’ no matter how much the man had tried; it just hadn’t felt _right_. But he hopes, for Norton’s sake, that Bart’s better at it than he had been.

“Michael asked me out for dinner,” Dirk tells Norton, taking one of the mugs off the tray.

Norton puts the tray on the sofa behind him and leans towards Dirk, looking excited. “Oh my, it’s getting that serious already?” he asks, eyes glinting, and Dirk nods nervously. “Dirk, you sly dog, why didn’t you _tell_ me? You’re my daughter’s godfather, for goodness’s sake!”

“And your brother-in-law,” Dirk adds under his breath, feeling slighted, but Norton doesn’t hear him.

“When is it?” Norton asks. “Are Priest and I going to meet him before it happens?”

Dirk makes a face and shudders. “I believe meet-the-family only comes after the engagement stage of a relationship,” Dirk says. “Which, in my opinion, may not be for a long time yet.”

Norton gasps, shooting him a scandalized look. “I met _you_ a day after I met Priest!” he says pointedly.

Dirk gives him a flat stare. “Yes, the morning after the night before, wasn’t it?” Dirk says, gagging at the memory. “I _never_ want to see my brother naked again. _Ever_.”

“You came in without knocking,” Norton tells him, shrugging. “Anyway, you’ve _got_ to bring him over, we could have dinner together.”

“Please, Norton, I don’t want to send him running for the hills after fifteen dates,” Dirk says, exasperated. “What do I tell him? ‘Good of you to come, Michael, come meet my terrifying brother Oz and his husband that looks _exactly_ like me, and mind the little murderess in the making at the corner, she’s just been adopted’; yes, I think that would go over _very_ well.”

“First of all, Bart’s not a murderess,” Norton says, scowling at him. “She has a strong moral compass, that’s all. And second of all, are you _ashamed_ of your family, Dirk Gently? Because from what I’m hearing, that’s what it sounds like.”

Dirk winces at the disapproval in Norton’s tone, looking away guiltily. “I’m not _ashamed_ of you,” he says defensively. “I’m just wildly aware that we’re not the most _conventional_ of families, and I don’t- I just really like Michael, alright?”

He hears Norton sigh, and then he feels Norton’s arms wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.

“Oh, love, I know what it’s like,” Norton tells him, resting his head over Dirk’s. “But we _are_ your family and we love you, and if this Michael of yours doesn’t have the balls to stand up to Priest, he doesn’t very rightly deserve you, does he?”

Dirk snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Guess not,” he mutters, sighing.

“I won’t push,” Norton says as he lets go of Dirk. “You can bring him round whenever you’re ready, but you’ll have to promise you’ll spend more time with Bart instead.”

Dirk scoffs - like as if he needs to be bribed into doing so - and looks over at Bart. She’s still drawing, but it’s a new picture. The other one she’d done is to her left, and Dirk sees that she’d added two more stick figures, which Dirk presumes are Priest and Norton, except Priest is holding a badly-drawn gun and Norton’s got a grenade in one of his stick hands. There are also several stick figures drawn below the three of them horizontally, with x’s drawn on their faces for their eyes.

“She’s got a fantastic imagination,” Dirk tells Norton, and Norton beams proudly in response.

\---

“Mikey’s here!” Tina shrieks, startling Dirk who’s getting his nails painted dark green by Todd behind the reception.

Tina’s been pressed up against the front door and peering out the glass panelling for any signs of Michael for the past half hour, and this is the fourth time she’s shouted out his arrival.

“Tina, I _told_ you, our date’s at _seven_ , and it’s only six right now!” Dirk tells her, rolling his eyes.

Todd’s cursing under his breath, frantically wiping away at the polish on Dirk’s right pinky which he’d smeared terribly when Dirk had jumped at Tina’s cry.

“Aw, okay, my bad, dude,” Tina says sheepishly. “It was just a random guy.”

“Just sit down and organize the pens or something,” Todd says to Tina irritably. “Keep yourself busy. I’m never gonna get these done if you don’t stop scaring him.”

“I’m not _scared_ ,” Dirk cuts in, indignant.

“Dude, you are _so_ scared,” Tina tells him, grinning as she peels herself off the door and goes over to the counter. “You’re like, haunted-house level of scared shitless right now, you’re so freaking pale.”

“Not helping,” Todd hisses at Tina when Dirk’s hands tense up on the counter.

“I’m not scared,” he repeats weakly, and Todd smiles at him encouragingly.

“You’re _fine_ ,” he tells him. “You’ll be great, and Michael’s going to realize he loves you more than he already does, and you’re both going to ride off into the sunset together on a fucking unicorn that shits out sugar, farts rainbows and vomits literal happiness. So stop worrying.”

Dirk actually tears up at that. “A _unicorn_ , Todd?” he asks with a wobbly grin.

Todd shrugs. “I’ll help you find one,” he says, nodding.

“That’s the sweetest dang thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” Tina says from over the counter, staring at Todd with awe. “That’s the Mexican Funeral poetic I’ve been thirsting for since you guys disbanded.”

Todd blushes at Tina’s scrutiny, ducking back down to get back to Dirk’s nails, muttering, “It’s just whatever.”

Tina grins at Dirk and winks at him. “But dude is right,” she says. “You’ve been on like, a hundred dates together, right? If he survived the first two, it’s totally true love.”

“It was _fifteen_ dates,” Dirk corrects her, sniffing. “But I appreciate the sentiment, Tina, thank you.”

“Speaking of,” Farah says suddenly, appearing out of nowhere.

Tina jumps at her presence, eyes widening and visibly tensing up.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me as backup, Dirk?” Farah asks, looking worried as she stands next to Tina.

Dirk shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a _date_ , Farah, I highly doubt there’s going to be anything exciting happening.”

Farah makes a face. “Knowing you? There’s actually a pretty high probability,” she says dryly.

“A Dirkcident waiting to happen,” Todd agrees, and Dirk shoots him a betrayed look.

“Well, even if something _does_ happen, I don’t think a gun would be very helpful,” Dirk says to Farah reasonably. “All three of you need to take a break from me, I mean it. _I’m_ going on a date! You all should go out and have your own fun, too.”

Todd scoffs. “Amanda’s coming with the Rowdies next week,” he says. “I need all the money I can save to clean up their mess after they leave.”

“Tina?” Dirk prods, looking at her.

Tina jumps, looking around at them frantically. “What?” she says. “What, did I miss something?”

“I was just _saying_ ,” Dirk tells her pointedly. “I’m going to be going on a _date_ while you lot fester away in the shop. Perhaps _you_ should be going out on your own frolics, yes?”

Tina’s eyes widen further at him, if that’s at all possible and she shakes her head, mouthing ‘no’ vehemently at him. She stops when Farah turns to look at her, her expression blanking out rapidly.

“Do you have any plans tonight, Tina?” Farah asks her.

Tina shakes her head jerkily. “Uh, me?” she stammers out, forcing a grin. “Nah, no, no way, dude. ‘Course not. I’m just chillin’. By myself. Upstairs. Home sweet home,” she says, laughing nervously.

Farah raises a brow at her, nodding slowly. “Right,” she says. “Okay.”

Dirk rolls his eyes and says, “Farah, why don’t you join her? You could have a girls’ night out!”

“Without _you_?” Todd snorts, and Dirk pinches his ear with his hand that’s already done. “Ow! _Dirk_!”

Farah, meanwhile, looks over at Tina, asking cautiously, “Is that good with you? I mean, we don’t have to hang out if you don’t want to.”

Tina stares at her, blank and dazed, and Dirk reaches over the counter to slap her shoulder gently. Tina jumps at his touch, finally recovering.

“Oh, uh, sure, that would be awesome sauce,” Tina says in a rush, cringing afterward at her own choice of words. “I mean, it’s cool, if you want to. We can- we can hang out. Just us two.”

Dirk gives her a thumbs up and an encouraging grin, but Tina’s too busy staring at Farah, who’s staring back at her with equal intensity.

“We can go up now,” Farah says slowly. “I mean, Todd can close the shop, right, Todd?”

“What?” Todd says distractedly, finishing up the final coat of Dirk’s last fingernail. “Wait, why _me_?” He yelps when Dirk pinches his ear again, and they both glare at each other before Dirk turns to Farah.

“What he means to say is, _of course_ ,” he tells her. “The two of you deserve the night off, go on and have fun!”

Farah shoots Dirk a suspicious squint, but Tina’s jerkily nodding and walking over to the side where the stairs to the upper floors are.

“Thanks, dude,” she says to Dirk. “Uh, good luck with your date. See you guys tomorrow.”

Farah nods, saying, “What she said,” to Dirk before rushing off after Tina.

Dirk waits until the sounds of their footsteps have faded away completely before letting out a loud groan.

“Some people can be so oblivious,” he tells Todd with a huff.

“What are you talking about?” Todd asks him as he recaps the nail polish. “And what was with the pinching? Seriously.”

Dirk squints at him before shaking his head. “You really don’t know?” he asks him, incredulous, and Todd shrugs. “Todd, two of your best friends and colleagues, which you’ve spent time with for _hours_ on end _every_ day for the past few years or so, are _in love_ with each and you haven’t even realized it?”

Todd’s eyes widen and his jaw drops with disbelief. “You don’t mean- Tina and Farah?” he asks, shocked. Then he scowls, and shakes his head, adding, “ _Really_?”

Dirk laughs at him. “You’re a terrible detective, Todd,” he tells him.

“Good thing I’m a receptionist then,” Todd replies with a careless shrug. “Seriously, though, I didn’t see that coming.”

The doorbell chimes just then, and they both look towards it to see Michael entering, dressed smartly in pressed slacks and a matching blazer over a white v-neck t-shirt. Dirk feels his breath catching at the smile Michael gives him, and struggles to return it with one of his own.

“Nice nails,” Michael says as he approaches the counter, and Dirk recovers a bit more of his brain functions and shows them off by pushing his fingers into Michael’s face.

“Thank you, Todd’s quite good at it,” he tells Michael. “One of the life lessons you obtain from growing up with a sister.”

Michael nods a hello at Todd, who waves back at him. “Hey, Michael,” he says. “Dirk doesn’t technically have a curfew, but his brother-in-law tends to check up on him around eleven, so if he doesn’t answer the call, get ready for some sirens headed your way.”

Michael’s brows rise at this information and Dirk feels like a teenager with an overbearing parent. “Thanks for the advice,” Michael tells Todd with a smile, holding a hand out to Dirk. “You ready to go, Dirk?”

Dirk takes it, marvelling at how warm Michael’s fingers are between his own, and he waves over his shoulder at Todd as Michael leads him out of the shop.

“Where _are_ we going, actually?” Dirk asks him as they walk down the street.

It’s still early, so it’s relatively full of other people walking about. Dirk tells himself that he’s only walking so close by Michael’s side because he wants to avoid the crowds on the pavement, but he’s really quite enjoying the feel of the other man against him.

“I was thinking an Italian restaurant,” Michael tells him, smiling. “Go back to my roots or whatever poetic nonsense, go for the whole classically romantic package. But I didn’t think you’d like it.”

Dirk shrugs, squeezing Michael’s hand. “I wouldn’t mind it,” he says honestly. As long as it’s with Michael, Dirk’s sure he’d be fine with eating corndogs at the park for a date.

“I thought you’d say that, too,” Michael says, only half-joking. “But it’s just not your style, is it? And it’s not really mine, either, so why bother?”

“Well, you still haven’t answered my question,” Dirk points out. “Where are you taking me, Mr. Assistent?”

Michael’s smile takes on a secretive tone, and he tells him, teasingly, “If you can guess before we get there, I’ll buy you a gift.”

Dirk grins at that, feeling excited at the prospect of a challenge. “A gift and a kiss!” he barters, enjoying the flush that appears across Michael’s cheeks at that.

“A gift and a kiss,” Michael agrees and Dirk starts guessing immediately.

\---

Michael brings him to the park; the exact same park that Dirk visits every day and where he’d first met Michael. Dirk hadn’t guessed anything close to it, so he’s sort of miserable about it, although the romantic sentiment isn’t lost on him.

“I’ve actually seen you here before you helped me that day,” Michael tells him as they sit on a bench facing the pond.

They’re eating waffles because the hotdog vendor apparently sells waffles at night instead of hotdogs, and Dirk’s contemplating telling Michael that this had actually technically been his first guess if that would mean he’d get that kiss Michael had promised.

“Oh?” Dirk says when he realizes that Michael is waiting for a response. “Do you live nearby?”

Michael nods, smiling down at the waffle in his hands, looking shy and sheepish. “Just across the street, actually,” he confesses. “I walk through the park everyday to work and I’ve seen you feeding the ducks every time.” With a blush, he adds, “At first I thought it was weird, but you were cute, and I wanted to talk to you but I never had the guts.”

Dirk grins at him, nudging him with his shoulder. “I’ve never had a stalker before,” he tells him.

Michael looks at him with alarm. “I wasn’t _stalking_ you,” he protests, although he looks a bit guilty.

“Did you drop those files to get my attention?” Dirk teases, relentless. “Mr. Assistent, you’re more devious than I thought! How long did it take you to come up with that idea?”

Michael groans with exasperation, but the small smile on his face tells Dirk that he knows he’s just kidding.

“Fine, it was all just a ruse that I’d been cooking up for months to get an excuse to talk to you,” Michael says grumpily. “Because I’m just that kind of lame alien-lover.”

Dirk grins again, leaning against Michael and resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. “Fortunately for you, I have a soft spot for lame alien-lovers,” he says, looking over at the lake. “And stalkers with devious designs upon my virtue.”

“Only if the stalker were me, though, I hope?” Michael says, reaching a hand over their laps to take Dirk’s. “I can’t promise I won’t try to get any others you have arrested if I ever catch them.”

Dirk snorts derisively to stifle the laugh that’s threatening to burst out of his chest. “That’s possibly the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he says seriously, and Michael laughs.

They chew on their waffles in comfortable silence for a while, both of them simply soaking in each other’s presence.

It’s nice. Dirk loves the park, and the ducks on the pond, and he’s starting to think he might like Michael as more than just a casual dating companion, and he’s glad that he’s here right now, with him. Michael’s funny, and weird, and he doesn’t think Dirk’s weirdness is off-putting, and Dirk hopes that whatever it is that’s happening between them, it’s going to last.

“Dirk?” Michael says softly, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?” Dirk replies, pulling away to look at him.

Michael’s not smiling anymore. In fact, he kind of looks very nervous and slightly guilty and Dirk sighs internally; he should’ve known better than to jinx himself, even in his own thoughts.

“I really like spending time with you,” Michael starts, gripping Dirk’s hand in his tightly. “And I’m sure that I want to keep spending more time with you in the future.”

“But?” Dirk prompts him when he stops.

Michael grimaces, and cautiously says, “Please don’t be angry with me?”

Dirk tilts his head at him, raising a brow as he replies, “I can’t be angry about something I don’t know about, Michael. I’m not psychic, you know.”

Michael smiles a small, self-deprecating smile. “It’s about my job,” he says, his eyes falling shut. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about it.”

Dirk scoffs. “You’ve hardly said more than three sentences about it since we’ve started seeing each other,” Dirk says reasonably. “How much could you lie about it in those three sentences?”

“You have a point,” Michael concedes, opening his eyes again and shaking his head. “I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want to keep any secrets from you.”

Dirk smiles at him. “I appreciate that thought, but you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready to, Michael,” he says, meaning every word.

Michael smiles at him, fond and sweet. “Thank you, Dirk,” he says sincerely, shaking his head. “I just- some days I feel like I really don’t deserve you.”

“Pfft,” Dirk scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’m not exactly a picture of perfection,” he tells Michael. “My life’s full of bizarre events surrounding the clients that I take. You’re lucky you met me while I haven’t got any at hand.”

“Like that detective with the dead partner that tried to shoot you when he just really needed a good massage?” Michael asks wryly.

“Exactly,” Dirk says emphatically. “Who knew the precinct had an outbreak of fatal herpes? I thought my fingers were going to cramp forever after I was through with them!”

They both laugh loudly, Dirk harder than Michael because it really had been quite the sight, the non-stop stream of officers walking in and out of the parlour for two weeks. It hadn’t actually been herpes, but it _was_ some sort of virus that had caused rashes and swollen muscles that the hospital couldn’t find a cause or cure for. Estevez, the detective, had been the worst, because his partner had actually succumbed to the disease before anyone had figured out what was happening, and he’d been sick out of his mind with grief and the disease when he’d barged into the parlour believing that they had somehow been behind it all. The whole force had been fortunate Estevez had found Dirk before anyone else had died, though.

Michael sighs after their laughter dies down, staring at their intertwined hands.

“I’m not really in security,” he admits quietly. “I mean, it _involves_ security, technically, but in all honesty, we’re more like a private firm for hired assassins.”

He glances up at Dirk nervously, and Dirk shrugs, nodding for him to continue.

“It’s called Blackwing,” Michael continues. “People hire us to get surveillance on persons of interest, and if they ever prove to be a threat, we get the green light to kill them. It sounds- it’s kind of illegal, but they’re all _really_ bad people and I know that doesn’t make it any better, but-”

Dirk uses his other hand to pat Michael’s shoulder gently, and the other man flinches for a moment before relaxing and looking at Dirk with apprehension.

“Are you angry at me yet?” he asks with the air of a child caught doing something bad.

“No?” Dirk says, shrugging when Michael gapes at him. “Well, I’m not fond of killing myself, but live and let live, right? Actually, I’m quite relieved. I’d thought you might have been about to tell me you were in the business of trafficking children. In which case, I would be dragging you down to the police station right about now.”

Michael stares at him for a long moment before he starts laughing helplessly, letting go of Dirk’s hand to bury his face in both his hands.

“God, Dirk, how are you so _perfect_?” he asks behind his palms and Dirk preens at the compliment.

“Does this perfect specimen of a human being deserves that kiss you mentioned?” he asks, only half-joking.

Michael drops his hands to smile tearily at him. “I’ll buy you a whole god damn candy store if you asked me to,” he says as he leans closer to him.

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Michael,” Dirk warns him, shifting closer to him as well.

Their faces are an inch apart, and Dirk closes his eyes when Michael closes the distance between them, and the kiss is perfect; Michael’s lips are soft and warm and sweet like the chocolate in the waffle he’d been eating, and for the first time in a long time, Dirk feels warmth spreading through his chest at the contact. He wants _more_.

But not tonight.

They break apart after what seems like forever, and Dirk’s sure that the smile on his face is as sickeningly sweet as the one that Michael’s giving him.

“I think- I think I might love you, Dirk,” Michael says breathlessly, his eyes dazed and his cheeks flushed, and Dirk feels his pulse skipping a beat at the confession.

“Me, too,” Dirk tells him, “I think I love me, too.”

Michael laughs at that, pinching Dirk’s arm lightly, and Dirk squeaks at the slight twinge of pain and scoots away from him.

“Alright, alright, I think I feel the same way about you,” Dirk huffs, feigning annoyance. “Is it too late to be angry now? I don’t think you deserve me, after all.”

Michael pinches him again, but he wraps his arms around Dirk’s waist and pulls him close before Dirk can move anywhere, and Dirk hides his smile in the collar of Michael’s blazer.

Michael’s phone vibrates insistently from his pants pocket, then, and the man groans exasperatedly.

“Your partner?” Dirk asks, pulling away.

Michael looks at him guiltily. “Probably,” he affirms, hesitating before he asks, “Do you want me to ignore it?”

Dirk rolls his eyes, waving at him dismissively. “Go ahead,” he says. “Knowing what you do now, it could literally be a life or death situation.”

Michael scoffs, muttering under his breath, “You have _no idea_ ,” before he stands and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Oh,” he says, and Dirk looks at him questioningly. “It’s just a message,” he explains, squinting down at his phone’s screen. “Argh, that asshole,” he grumbles before he starts typing away rapidly.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Dirk asks him, watching his fingers move in a blur.

Michael glances at him for a moment, humming distractedly before he says, “Nothing much to talk about, really. He’s just really bossy and he likes to treat me like a kid all the time. He’s actually kind of nice, once you get to know him.”

“He sounds like my brother,” Dirk says offhandedly, and Michael pauses to look at him, surprised. “I was adopted when I was five,” Dirk explains. “And his father wasn’t always around, so he basically had to raise me on his own. He hasn’t stopped treating me more like a son than a brother, and it’s gotten worse since he got married.”

“Oh,” Michael says, before realizing that he’s still in the middle of texting and finishes it quickly before sitting back down. “You don’t talk about your family much,” he says to Dirk.

“Like you said,” Dirk says, shrugging. “Nothing much to talk about. I don’t remember my birth parents, besides the fact that they were Yugoslavian immigrants in the UK before moving to the States and dying in a car crash. Scott adopted me while his wife was still alive, and they had a son a few years older than me. Scott was always working after his wife died, so Oz was the one that took care of me.”

“Oz?” Michael repeats. “Is that your brother’s name?”

“Short for Osmund,” Dirk affirms. “I used to call him Oz-man because it drove him mental, but he’s actually pretty great, as far as adoptive brothers go.”

Michael has a perturbed look on his face as Dirk finishes speaking, and Dirk raises a brow at him questioningly.

“It’s just that, my partner’s name is Oz,” Michael says, chuckling and shaking his head. “What’re the odds?”

Dirk scoffs. “What are the _Oz_ ,” he says, before adding, “But it’s probably just a coincidence. I mean, Oz isn’t an assassin, he’s-” Dirk stops speaking when he realizes what he’d been about to say, and dread starts filling up rapidly in his chest.

Michael’s brows furrow at the look on his face, and he asks, worriedly, “What’s wrong, Dirk?”

“He’s in security,” Dirk says quietly, to himself, and his eyes widen before he turns to Michael. “Your partner. What does he look like?” he asks anxiously.

Michael eyes him oddly, shrugging as he says with uncertainty, “Um, tall? Blonde? Blue eyes. He looks like he could snap someone’s neck with his fingers, and he’s intimidating and-”

“Pretty fucking terrifying?” Dirk finishes for him, and Michael’s eyes widen at him with disbelief. Grimly, Dirk asks, “Is his name Osmund Priest?”

Michael’s jaw drops. “No _way_ ,” he says quietly.

Dirk stands abruptly from the bench, stiff and tensed. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I’ve got to go,” he says.

Michael’s eyes widen again and he stands up, stumbling after Dirk as Dirk strides swiftly away.

“Wa-wait, Dirk!” Michael calls out to him, but Dirk doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Dirk, please!”

He’s feeling angry, and betrayed, and _lied_ to, and he _hates_ it.

He’s always trusted his brother, despite whatever flaws the man possesses. Oz is the one constant thing in Dirk’s life that he’d always thought he could count on.

When Scott was working, Oz had helped him with his homework. When bullies had been picking on him because of his unique accent, Oz had been the one to teach him how to throw a punch properly to get them to back off. When Dirk had been stressing himself out of his mind, trying to compartmentalize between his feelings and his stupid hunches and the medical books he’d been supposed to read in university, Oz had been the one to support him wanting to drop out. When Dirk had been dumped by the few men in his life, believing that he wasn’t good enough for anyone because he was just too fucking _weird_ , Oz had been the one to beat them up for breaking his little brother’s heart.

Oz had always been there for him, had been the one Dirk had _never_ kept any secrets from.

Dirk feels his heart breaking from the realization that the feeling hadn’t been as mutual as he’d thought, and it _hurts_ , more than anything he’s ever felt before and Dirk _hates_ it.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Michael catches up to him and grabs his arm, and his face is a blurry mess as he turns Dirk towards him.

“Dirk, I’m sorry,” Michael says desperately. “I didn’t- it wasn’t my intention to upset you!”

“It’s not your fault,” Dirk tells him hoarsely, swallowing back a sob. “Thank you for telling me.”

Dirk jerks out of Michael’s hold and wipes furiously at his eyes. “I just- I need some time,” he tells Michael, not daring to look at him any longer. “Please just leave me alone for a while.”

Michael makes a strangled, helpless sound at the request, and Dirk’s heart clenches painfully tighter.

“ _Please_ , Dirk,” Michael says quietly, defeatedly.

“It’s not _you_ ,” Dirk tells him, sniffing. “I’ll call you- when I’m ready, I’ll call you.”

He whirls on his heels and leaves, then, acutely aware that he’s moving further and further away from Michael, but feeling too numb with anger and hurt to care.

\---

He walks all the way to Oz and Norton’s condo, which is an hour away from the park, by foot.

His feet ache and his heart still hurts, but the tears have dried and his anger has simmered down to a muted annoyance by the time he’s slamming his keycard onto their front door’s electronic lock, and Dirk’s almost sure he’s ready to talk about it like a normal adult.

The lights are still on inside, and Dirk sees Norton dozing off on the sofa in the living room, his laptop open on his lap.

The front door slams shut behind Dirk and it jerks Norton awake, who looks around quickly to find the source of the noise.

“Dirk?” he says, bleary and confused. He glances down at his laptop, squinting, before saying, “It’s only half past nine, is your date over already?”

“Where’s your husband?” Dirk asks him curtly, striding over into the living room.

Norton’s brows rise as he looks at Dirk. “What has he done this time?” he asks with resignation before he scowls as he looks closer at Dirk’s face. “Have you been crying?” he asks in alarm, setting his laptop down on the sofa and standing up to move to Dirk. “Did your date go badly, love?”

He touches Dirk’s elbow, concerned, but Dirk jerks back from him, repeating, “Where is he?”

Norton frowns, gesturing in the direction of the hall. “He was reading Bart a bedtime story, but he should be done by now,” he says, giving Dirk a cautious look. “Dirk, what did Oz do?” he asks warily.

Dirk shakes his head. “Did you know?” he asks, hands clenching by his sides.

“Know what?” Norton asks back, confused.

“Oz’s job,” Dirk says curtly. “Did you know about it?”

Norton’s always been a very good actor, and Dirk knows from experience that he’s a very skilled liar. But he also knows from experience what Norton’s tells are, and he knows he’s lying when the man feigns ignorance.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he tries, and Dirk stomps his foot angrily.

“Don’t lie to me, Norton,” he says, tearing up again. “Not _you_ , too.”

Norton shakes his head, but Dirk must look quite the sight, because he pauses for a moment and sighs tiredly.

“I’ll go fetch him, then, shall I?” he says quietly before walking past Dirk.

Dirk crosses his arms over his chest as he waits, and it’s not long before he hears Oz’s familiar footsteps coming back down the hallway and stopping behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dirk asks, turning around.

Oz’s face is a perfect mask of blankness, and it hurts all the more to see it. Oz has only ever given him that face twice in all the years since Dirk has been his brother, and it’s always made Dirk feel small and stupid and irrational. Like as if he doesn’t deserve to know how Oz is feeling, as if he can’t be trusted with something as intimate and personal as that.

“Does it really matter?” Oz asks, calm and composed.

Dirk glares at him. “How could you lie to me?” he demands. “To _me_?”

“I lie to everyone about it,” Oz says reasonably. “Defeats the purpose to go around tellin’ people.”

“You told _Norton_!” Dirk shoots back viciously.

Oz has the gall to roll his eyes. “He’s my _husband_ ,” he says. “Kind of stupid to try and lie to a liar, anyway.”

“That’s not the point!” Dirk snaps at him. “How could you tell Norton and not _me_? How long have you been lying to me? What _else_ have you lied to me about?”

A brief flash of regret crosses Oz’s otherwise impassive face, and Oz says, “Nothin’, Dirk. I’ve never lied to you about anythin’ else.”

Dirk shakes his head, his eyes tearing up even more. “How do I know you’re not lying about lying?” he asks, his tone bordering on desperate. “How do I trust you anymore? You- you were supposed to be my _brother_!”

“I _am_ your brother, Dirk,” Oz snaps, and his expression breaks again, this time with anger. “I will _always_ be your brother. What I do for a livin’ doesn’t change that, it doesn’t change anythin’.”

The tears have spilled over, Dirk doesn’t need to feel them streaming down his cheeks to know because Oz is eyeing them, and he looks pained, now, instead of unfeeling.

“Dirk,” he says, but Dirk cuts him off with a shake of his head and a sharp, “ _No_. Shut up.”

Dirk wipes at his cheeks roughly and looks away from him. “I _hate_ you,” he says emphatically. “I don’t want to speak to you ever again.”

“Dirk, I own half that parlour, you’ve got to talk to me at some point,” Oz says with an annoyed sigh.

“I’m quitting,” Dirk snaps at him, taking childish, petty pleasure at the shocked look that the declaration has garnered. “I quit being a masseuse.”

“Don’t be stupid, Dirk,” Oz says after getting over his shock, glaring. “You _love_ being a masseuse. Don’t let whatever this is stop you from doin’ it.”

“I’ve already made up my mind,” Dirk says stubbornly. “You can have the parlour, I don’t want it anymore.” The unspoken ‘I don’t want you in my life anymore’ isn’t lost on either of them, and Oz looks even angrier now.

“Dirk,” he starts again, but Dirk’s already striding behind the sofa and towards the front door, tossing the keycard at Oz carelessly.

“Just leave me alone!” he shouts over his shoulder before he storms out the door.

Oz doesn’t come after him - not that Dirk had _wanted_ him to or anything - and Dirk maybe stops on the fifteenth floor landing in the emergency stairwell and cries quietly to himself for half an hour before he finally manages to pull himself together enough to make his way back to his empty, lonely flat.

\---

His phone doesn’t stop ringing after noon the next day.

He knows it’s Todd, and he knows he’s being a great asshole for not checking in on his friends, but he’s feeling too empty and miserable and maybe a tiny bit remorseful for how he’d behaved with Oz the night before to really bring himself to speak to anyone.

He hadn’t actually _meant_ it when he’d said he’d wanted to quit.

It’s just that he knows how much opening the parlour together had meant to Oz, how much it had meant to Oz that it had meant the world to Dirk, and it’s the worst thing he could have said to the man. He’d just wanted to hurt him as much as his lying had hurt Dirk, and while Dirk had felt good doing it the previous night, it feels like shit in the light of the morning after.

He wonders if this is how people who regret their one-night stands feel like, and groans as he burrows deeper into his comforters.

He had just successfully fucked up his budding relationship with possibly the most perfect man alive and severed all ties with his closest family in one night, and it’s a really, really shitty feeling.

He’s seriously contemplating changing his name and moving to start a new life in Massachusetts - except, Svlad Cjelli’s Holistic Massage Parlour just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it as Dirk Gently’s - when there’s a banging on his front door, and Dirk throws the comforters off him and sits up in his bed to look confusedly out his open bedroom door.

He looks over at his - still-vibrating - phone and sees Todd’s caller ID on it, noting that it’s 1.30 pm, and knows that it can’t possibly be one of his friends. They’re usually checking his flat only after no word from him past 2.

The front door bangs again just then and Dirk jumps, but slowly gets out of bed, dragging the comforters with him as he goes out into the living room.

“Who’s there?” he calls out suspiciously as he stands in front of the front door.

There’s no response, just more banging, and Dirk purses his lips, making sure that the latch is secured before he unlocks the door and pulls it open. He can’t see who’s out there, and when he leans closer to the gap between the door and the frame, a large hand pokes inside and Dirk squeaks and jumps backwards in alarm.

“Hey!” he shouts warningly when the hand starts feeling around blindly behind the door before it finds the latch and tries to unlatch it. “What the hell, stop it!” Dirk tells it indignantly, but the hand doesn’t even pause, and it manages to achieve its goal in record time.

Dirk’s eyes widen when the door slams open to reveal a tall, built man with short blond hair dressed in combat gear, standing in the hallway with a sniper rifle strapped to his chest.

“You, what the hell!” the man says, frowning at him. “Why is your door, like, so hard to open?” he asks with visible irritation.

Dirk gives him a flat look. “Uh, to stop people from coming in, maybe?” he says sarcastically, and the man frowns deeper before taking his rifle in his hands and aiming it at Dirk.

Dirk shrieks in alarm and turns to run, except, he’d forgotten that he’s still half-wrapped in his comforters and trips as they tangle around his legs, and he lands on them on the floor before he can get anywhere.

“Don’t move!” the man shouts, and Dirk manages to roll over onto his back to give him a look.

“I _can’t_ move, are you blind?” he asks with disbelief, almost regretting it when the man points the rifle at him again, and he raises his arms with wide eyes.

“Are you Dirk Gently?” the man asks, looking at Dirk from behind his scope.

“Will you believe me if I said no?” Dirk asks him, squinting at the barrel of the rifle.

The man looks up from the scope and scowls. “Uh, _are_ you going to say no?” he asks, looking confused.

“It depends on whether you’ll believe me or not,” Dirk tells him.

The man tilts his head and frowns harder, scratching at his head with one hand. “Like, I don’t know?” he says. “Are you lying?”

“It’s not lying if we both believe it’s the truth,” Dirk says, lowering his hands.

“Like, doesn’t that mean you _are_ lying?” the man asks, looking completely bewildered.

Dirk shrugs. “Logically speaking, yes,” he says.

“So, you _are_ Dirk Gently,” the man says, lowering his rifle.

“I never said that,” Dirk points out, and the man frowns again.

“I’m like, so confused right now,” he confesses, and Dirk nods understandingly.

“It _is_ quite the conundrum,” he agrees.

The man looks like he’s about to say something, but then he tilts his head like he’s listening to something and Dirk sees the earpiece in his ear.

“He says he’s not Dirk Gently,” the man says before pausing and a look of realization dawns on him. “So he _is_ lying!” he says before he looks back at Dirk. “Dude, c’mon, man, I’ve got, like, a schedule to follow!”

“Sorry for keeping you?” Dirk tries, squeaking when the man points the rifle at him again.

“Get up, you’re coming with me,” the man says, shaking his head when Dirk opens his mouth to say something, snapping, “Nuh-uh, like, just shut up and do what I say!”

And that’s how Dirk finds himself sitting in the back of a van with no windows a few minutes later, his hands cuffed in front of him as he eyes the rifle still pointed at him by the stranger that had barged into his flat.

“Could you, maybe, not point that at me?” he asks, quite politely in his opinion.

The man rolls his eyes but shifts until the rifle is now pointing at the roof of the van.

“Thank you,” Dirk says sincerely.

“Just be quiet,” the man tells him. “Or I’ll like, gag you.”

Dirk makes a face at that, nodding. “One more question?” he asks, and the other man sighs irritably but nods.

“Where are you taking me?” Dirk asks.

“Blackbook HQ,” the man tells him. “Now shut up.”

And Dirk does, because the rifle is slowly moving back in his direction.

\---

He doesn’t quite know how long they’d been driving, but when they stop, the man with the rifle pulls a hood over his head before dragging him out the back of the van. Dirk is blindly pulled around for what seems like forever before he’s shoved onto an uncomfortable, metal chair and the hood is pulled off of him roughly.

He blinks at the onslaught of light that blinds him temporarily, and when his eyes adjusts, he finds himself sitting alone in the middle of an open space. There’s a single tall lamp a few feet away from him, and he’s not sure how big the place is because everything beyond the lamp’s reach is completely black.

Dirk looks around nervously and jumps when a circular light blinks to life in the darkness across from him with a loud, echoing click, followed shortly by a booming voice.

“Dirk Gently,” the voice says.

“Yes?” Dirk says automatically in reply before adding, “Just for the record, I _never_ said that I was him.”

“You’re Osmund Priest’s brother,” the voice says, sounding irritated.

“Never heard of him,” Dirk says, shaking his head. “Although, he sounds like a right jerk.”

“You can stop lying, we know who you are,” the voice says, and Dirk can practically hear the owner of it rolling their eyes. “Listen carefully; we don’t want you. We want your brother. So, cooperate, and we’ll probably let you go with all your limbs intact.”

Dirk shudders slightly at that, shrugging his shoulders. “Hypothetically speaking,” he says, looking around, “if I _were_ Osmund Priest’s brother, should I be concerned as to why you want him? Hypothetically.”

The voice scoffs. “He’s been stealing our clients and our cases for too long,” it says, sounding a bit whiny, in Dirk’s opinion. “We’re going to kill him.”

While Dirk’s still angry at Oz for lying to him, the voice’s words still makes him feel a surge of protective fear burst through him.

“Hypothetically speaking, isn’t that a bit harsh?” Dirk asks the voice. “I mean, it’s a bit too permanent of a solution for something so petty.”

“It’s not _petty_!” the voice protests, audibly offended. “He’s always showing us up and saving the day like some stupid superhero vigilante! It’s not _fair_!”

Dirk nearly rolls his eyes at that, but manages to refrain himself. “Right,” he says instead. “Well, hypothetically speaking-”

“Stop saying that, we both know you _are_ his brother,” the voice cuts in and Dirk glares at the light in the distance.

“ _Fine_ ,” he says, huffing. “As I was saying, how do you actually plan on killing him? Why even take _me_? I didn’t even know what he does for a living until literally a few hours ago.”

“Well, you’re his brother; he’ll come bursting in here to save you and walk right into our trap like the sentimental idiot that he is,” the voice says obviously. “Priest has been careful about keeping his family out of the business, but then his assistant started going out with _you_ and we put two and two together. And here we are.”

“He’s not his _assistant_ , they’re _partners_!” Dirk says indignantly, rolling his eyes. “And that’s a stupid idea. We just had a fight, I highly doubt he’s going to come rescue me.”

“Oh, you are so wrong about that,” the voice says. “He razed the HQ of the last organization that tried to dig up information on you to the ground a couple of years back. Bastard has a brother complex if I ever saw one.”

Dirk feels irrationally flattered at this newfound information, momentarily forgetting that he’s supposed to still be angry at Priest, and then the light blinks out suddenly. Dirk’s blinded again when more lights flare to life somewhere above him, and he blinks rapidly to clear his sight.

The room is big and circular, with concrete walls and floors, and a high, domed ceiling where the lights are lined around. There’s a two-way mirror in the wall where the light of the voice had been in, and Dirk sees himself reflected back in it, frowning when he realizes that he’s still in just a t-shirt and boxers, and his hair is a bird’s nest of a mess.

He’d forgotten that he hadn’t left his bed all morning and afternoon.

A door to the left of the mirror clicks open, and in walks a man with dark hair and a mustache that’s twirled comically on each end. Three men dressed similarly to the stranger that had broken into Dirk’s apartment walk in behind him, all of them armed with sniper rifles.

“Your brother’s been sent to Guatemala on a new assignment just this morning,” the man tells him as he walks closer, and Dirk recognizes his voice as the one speaking earlier. “I gave him three hours to come get you, or I’ll start cutting off fingers and toes. I’m sure the pressure is sufficient motivation for him to get here faster.”

Dirk eyes him warily, not liking the sound of that. “Why the time limit?” he asks. “If you just wanted to kill him?”

The man smirks menacingly down at Dirk. “Well, I do like to make things more interesting,” he says, shrugging. “Also, I just like to mess with people.”

“You’re a horrible person,” Dirk tells him, and the man laughs.

“Careful, or I might cut off your lips instead,” the man warns with a smile, mimicking the snipping of scissors in the air with his fingers.

Dirk shudders, glaring at him. He wants to tell the man where he can shove his fingers when he notices a movement behind the three goons, and each of them fall, one by one, crumpled to the floor. The man hears the noise, and makes to turn and see the cause of it, but an arm wraps around his shoulders from behind and a nasty-looking dagger presses against his neck.

The man’s eyes widen, and he raises his hands in front of him in surrender, and Dirk beams when he sees Norton’s head pop into view over the man’s shoulder.

“Norton!” he cries out, immensely relieved.

“We are having _words_ about this later,” Norton tells him sternly as he digs the knife deeper into the man’s skin. “And you,” he hisses into the man’s ear. “Have you got a death wish?”

“Who are you?” the man demands nervously, trying to see Norton out of the corner of his eyes.

“I’m his brother-in-law, you moron,” Norton snaps at him. “Now, give me the keys to the cuffs before I sever your head from your shoulders.”

The man scoffs, wincing when Norton digs the knife just a little bit deeper until a line of crimson bleeds between skin and blade, and he finally obeys, digging through his pants pocket and pulling out a small ring of keys. Norton grabs it with his other hand and tosses it over at Dirk, who catches it with a fumble.

“So, you’re Priest’s wife?” the man says condescendingly, and Dirk almost feels sorry for him when he sees Norton’s brow twitch with irritation.

“Dirk, darling, turn around, please,” Norton tells Dirk sweetly, and Dirk hastily shifts on the chair and tries to focus solely on getting his cuffs unlocked and not on the sound of the man gurgling with pain and the thudding of two somethings dropping heavily to the ground.

“Misogynistic arsehole,” he hears Norton spit viciously, and Dirk finally manages to get the cuffs off, tossing them away carelessly.

“Can I turn around again?” he asks politely.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Norton tells him, and Dirk hears the telltale clicking of a silenced gun - he counts five shots, and _wow_ , Norton is _pissed_ \- before Norton says, “Alright, it’s time to go.”

Dirk stands from the chair, keeping his eyes carefully above waist level turning around, and gasps when he sees Bart dangling happily from a baby carrier on Norton’s back as the man strides towards the door of the room.

“Un’ke Dirk!” Bart says, grinning and waving at him with a hand clutching a tiny gun. It sprays out water when she clicks it, much to Dirk’s relief.

“Hello, Bart,” Dirk tells her as he runs to catch up to Norton.

“Daddy gave me thiz!” she tells him, waving the gun again. “Bam bam!” she continues as she pulls its trigger, spraying water all over the floor.

“That’s very nice, Bart, you’ve got good aim,” Dirk tells her, and she giggles shyly.

They walk down a hallway in quick steps, passing by several motionless bodies on the ground along the way, and Dirk notices all the cameras in the corners of the halls have been shot out.

“Norton,” Dirk starts, but Norton shakes his head, holding a hand up at him.

“Not right now, Dirk,” he says, shooting him an apologetic look. “We’re not out of the woods, yet.”

Dirk nods, and keeps closer to his side, making faces at Bart and eliciting several giggles from her. He smiles at her attempts to imitate him, and bops her on the nose when she goes cross-eyed after a while, and she bursts into a louder round of giggles.

Norton leads them into a hangar, and towards one of the black SUVs there, and Dirk gasps when the driver’s door is thrown open and Michael’s running out it. He runs to Dirk and wraps his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“God, I was so _worried_!” Michael says as he pulls away, gripping Dirk by the shoulders and looking him over frantically. “Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you? Did they _touch_ you, Dirk?”

Dirk shakes his head, tearing up, the danger of what could have happened to him finally dawning on him, and he chokes out, “I love you,” without thinking.

Michael freezes, eyes widening, but a moment later, he’s laughing helplessly. “I love you, too, Dirk,” he says, smiling widely.

Dirk thinks of kissing him then and there, but then Norton’s grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the opened back door of the SUV.

“Please, save the reunions for when we’re _not_ in the heart of enemy territory,” he says exasperatedly.

Dirk lets Norton push him into the seats and takes Bart into his arms when Norton passes her to him. She squeals and starts climbing all over him until she’s sitting by herself on the seat next to him, leaning back and pointing at the seatbelt in the corner.

“Seatbelt,” she tells Dirk pointedly, and Dirk proceeds to pull it over her. “Thank you,” she tells him when he’s done, and Dirk gives her a thumbs up which she returns enthusiastically.

Norton and Michael get in the front, Michael driving, and Dirk hears him asking, “Where should we go?”

“Anywhere’s fine,” Norton tells him, “I fried their database and the ones involved are already dead. For all they know, we could be living in Alaska.”

“Alaska is nice,” Dirk says, and Bart cheers, shouting, “Al’ska!”

\---

They go back to Oz and Norton’s condo, where they find Oz pacing the living room restlessly, a luggage bag nearby and still dressed in what Dirk assumes is his work gear - he looks ready to take someone out, complete with gun holsters and sheaths with knives in them strapped to his calves.

He looks pissed but relieved when they all surge in, and he wraps his arms around Norton and Bart protectively, giving them both a kiss on the forehead before pulling away and looking over at Dirk, who’s hovering hesitantly nearby with Michael by his side.

“Come over here, you little shit,” Oz tells him, and Dirk maybe, sort of practically runs to him and lets himself be smothered in a hug of his own. “I’m so sorry, Dirk,” Oz tells him, words muffled on account of his face being buried in Dirk’s hair, and Dirk pats his back comfortingly.

“I might be starting to understand why you lied to me about your job, now,” Dirk tells him as they pull away. “I’m sorry I gave you shit about it.”

“I’m used to you givin’ me shit, anyway,” Oz tells him, and Dirk rolls his eyes.

“Where’s _my_ apology?” Norton says indignantly behind Oz. “You _both_ give me shit on a daily basis.”

Dirk grins at Oz, who rolls his eyes and turns around to face Norton, and he's glaring at him with one hand on his hip, since his other arm is holding onto Bart. Dirk makes a face when Oz pulls Norton close and plants a kiss on his lips that quickly starts involving tongue, and even Bart makes a disgusted sound.

“I love you,” Dirk hears Oz say softly when they part. “Thanks for puttin’ up with our shit all the time.”

Dirk sees Norton blushing, and turns away quickly to give them some privacy, moving towards where Michael is still standing to the side and watching them all awkwardly.

"Do you, perhaps, want to walk me home?” Dirk asks him, almost shyly, pleased when Michael smiles and nods without hesitation.

“There’s nothing else I’d want more in the world,” Michael says, holding a hand out to him, and Dirk takes it, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly.

They’re about to leave when Dirk hears Oz calling out to him, and he turns, yelping when something white is thrown his way. It hits him square in the forehead before dropping to the ground and Dirk looks down to see that it’s his keycard to the condo.

He picks it up and looks over at Oz, but his brother is looking at Michael sternly.

“I’ve got his apartment bugged, so don’t go gettin’ any ideas,” Oz says, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Seriously?” Michael says flatly. “He almost _died_ , Oz, do you really think we were gonna jump into bed together after something crazy like that?”

“Post near-death coitus is actually very satisfying,” Norton pipes up with a grin. “Much better than angry coitus, anyway.”

“ _Coitus_?” Dirk echoes, raising a brow. Norton gestures at Bart, and Dirk nods, saying, “Ah, right.”

“We are not having _coitus_ ,” Michael tells them exasperatedly. “We’ve only been dating for a month, it’s too early for that.”

“Is it?” Dirk asks him, and Michael blushes, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I- I mean, I was- I thought you’d want to take it slow,” he stammers out.

“I didn’t think there was a specific pace to be followed,” Dirk confesses. “I slept with my first boyfriend a week after we started dating.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that,” Michael says hastily. “I just-” He stops and looks at Dirk with uncertainty. “Do you, um, _want_ to?” he asks.

Dirk smiles at him. “Only if you’re ready, Michael,” he says, and Michael deflates with visible relief, which is cute and endearing at the same time.

“We can still make out, though, can’t we?” Dirk asks, and Michael blushes again, looking over at Oz.

Dirk sees Oz’s brow twitching and grins. “He’ll get over it,” he tells Michael before proceeding to drag him towards the front door. “Now let’s go before he actually takes out a gun.”

\---

**One Week Later**

Michael looks completely lost as he sits between a loudly cheering Vogel and Gripps, clutching at the papercup between his hands tightly as he stares wide-eyed at Amanda, Martin, Tina and Farah as they perform what could only be called a drunken, narcotics-induced rain dance around the bonfire that’s burning brightly in the middle of their camp site.

Dirk’s watching him with amusement from next to the Rowdies’ van, which is parked a considerably safe distance away, and Todd’s leaning against it next to him.

“So,” Todd says, suddenly, taking a sip from his cup. Dirk’s not actually sure what drink Amanda had brought, but it tastes disgustingly sweet, and Dirk’s feeling tipsy after just one cup, so he’d known better than to ask. “You and Michael,” Todd continues, glancing sideways at Dirk.

“Yes, me and Michael,” Dirk agrees, not giving him any more than that because he likes forcing Todd to talk about feelings. God knows he needs the practice.

“You’re getting pretty serious, huh?” Todd says, and Dirk only hums an agreement. Todd groans, adding, “Seriously? You’re gonna make me pull teeth about it?”

Dirk snorts, giving him his best innocent smile. “I don’t know what you mean, Todd,” he says.

Todd glares at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. “You’re an asshole,” he says. “I just- I can see you both really care about each other, okay? And I just want you to know- if he does anything to hurt you, I’m gonna be breaking every bone in his body.”

Dirk’s smile becomes genuine as Todd finishes, widening so much that it feels like his cheeks are going to cramp up.

“That’s very sweet of you, Todd,” he says sincerely. “Thank you.”

Todd blushes, rolling his eyes and looking away embarrassedly. “You’re my best friend,” he says, shrugging. “The last asshole didn’t even have the decency to say goodbye, I’m not gonna show any mercy this time.”

Dirk winces at the reminder, shaking his head. “Michael’s different,” he says fondly, looking over at the bonfire to see Vogel trying to drag Michael from the log he’s sitting on and join the ritualistic dancing. “I think- no, I _know_ it’s different this time.”

“I’m happy for you,” Todd tells him, and Dirk wraps an arm over Todd’s shoulder and pulls him into a one-armed hug, despite Todd’s protests.

“You’re my best friend, too, Todd,” Dirk tells him, and Todd stops protesting and lets himself be hugged with a helpless smile.

“I think maybe you should go save your boyfriend,” Todd says after a moment of comfortable silence. “Before he accidentally joins the Rowdy 3.”

Michael’s given up struggling and is now moving jerkily between Martin and Vogel, and Dirk laughs.

“Maybe in a little bit,” he tells Todd. “He’s been tensed lately, he could use the distraction.”

And then Vogel suddenly grabs Michael by the shoulders and pulls himself off the ground and plants a huge, wet kiss all over his face and Dirk pulls away from Todd in a flash.

“On second thought, I do believe you’ve got a point there, Todd,” he says, ignoring Todd’s laughter as he rushes towards the bonfire.

“Hey, hands off! That’s _my_ boyfriend, you little twink!”


	2. The unnecessary backstory chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically a summarized chapter of how the Parlour came to be and also what happened in Chapter 1, from a 3rd party's perspective. Feel free to ignore it if you don't really give a shit, haha.

**Premise of the HMP AU**  
Dirk opened a Holistic Massage Parlour after dropping out of medical school - he is the adoptive son of General Scott Riggins and the adoptive younger brother of Osmund Priest.

Priest is co-owner of the MP because he’s the one that gave Dirk the money to open the parlour in the first place. Priest is filthy rich because he’s secretly an assassin - but Dirk thinks that he’s in ‘security’. Priest is in a relationship with Norton Folgate, an ex-spy for the MI6 - his resemblance to Dirk is not lost on any of them and Norton is constantly giving Priest shit about it (lovingly, of course).

 **Dirk Gently, Holistic Masseuse**  
Dirk was 24 years old when he realized that he didn’t want to be a doctor - because some medicine just don't  _work_ \- and decides that opening a massage parlour is more his calling.

Scott’s not happy, but Priest thinks his little brother is ‘gifted’ and believes him when he tells him that being a Holistic Masseuse is his destiny, so he secretly funds Dirk’s dreams while Scott mistakenly believes that Dirk has a sugar daddy that he’s trying very hard to hunt down and give a stern talking to.

Meanwhile, Dirk’s miraculously cured 10 people of obscure diseases that conventional medicine never could - _no_ , he still can’t cure cancer, alas - in the three years since opening the parlour, when he meets Tina.

Tina was a drug addict, and a mess. She didn’t have any friends or family - Hobbs died in a car accident that Tina had caused (because the author is an asshole that likes to make backstories as tragic as possible) - and had been trying to kill herself when Dirk met her. Read: she had been about to jump off the roof of his parlour.

Dirk convinces her to _not_ die, and offers to teach Tina how to give _damn good_ massages and Tina gives it a try because Dirk is persistent and she doesn’t have anything else in her life, anyway. They make it work, and eventually, Tina learns to cope with her grief and her guilt in healthier ways - through the power of friendship and _massage_ \- and she turns out to be almost as good as Dirk at giving massages.

This is especially good because Dirk doesn’t just give massages - he _chooses_ who he takes on as clients and who he doesn’t. According to him, he does this base on his _hunches_. Only people who _really_ need his masseuse skills will get them. So, even though he’s opened the parlour for almost three years already, _10_ clients is hardly enough to keep the parlour going (if it weren’t for Priest’s abundant wealth, Dirk would be on the streets by now, because Priest is a good bro). However, Dirk does also get significant donations from anonymous sources which he insists are the results of his methods (so Priest isn’t actually the only reason he’s not starving, in his defense).

Anyway, the parlour makes a lot more money with Tina on board because Tina has no such qualms on whom or what she puts her massaging hands on. Because #biculture.

Two years after Dirk had met Tina, he meets Todd. After a series of _strange_ events surrounding the failed musician - and his pararibulitis-ridden sister - Todd ends up becoming Dirk’s first best male friend - because Tina’s his best friend, too - and grudgingly works for Dirk as a receptionist. Todd initially started working for him because he was broke and alone and had lost all hope - he’d lied to his sister about having pararibulitis, too, and she’d found out some time after Dirk had cured her and it still pissed her off.

They reconciled when Todd ended up really getting it, but she still refuses to live in the same city as him and ran off to live on the road with her new best friends cum lovers, the Rowdy 3. After becoming friends with Dirk, he ends up actually liking being Dirk’s receptionist (he’ll never say that out loud, though), but he still feels guilty about Amanda and refuses to let Dirk cure him, even though he could.

A year or so down the line after Todd’s recruitment, Farah enters the picture. Farah ends up in Dirk’s parlour when she’s tossed through the front window by an assassin that had been attempting to kill her employer, Patrick Spring (psst: it was _Priest_ , lol - he was trying to kill someone else trying to kill Patrick but Farah misread the situation) and Dirk saves her life using his knowledge as an ex-medical student. Farah feels indebted to Dirk, and keeps coming back with money to pay him, but Dirk keeps rejecting her payments - much to Todd and Tina’s disapproval. One day, Farah comes visiting, but instead of offering payment, she confides in Dirk, telling him that Patrick's suffering from an incurable disease and she feels terrible about it because he’d been like a father to her but there’s nothing she can do to help him.

Dirk offers to give him a massage and Farah thinks he’s joking - that maybe Dirk just wants to do something nice for Patrick and Dirk ends up curing him.

Farah is so relieved and happy and amazed, but at the same time, feels even more indebted to Dirk. Patrick, feeling like he owes Farah and Dirk his life, fires Farah and tells her to work for Dirk as his manager instead - to protect him and help him, just as she had been doing for Patrick for years. Farah feels simultaneously sad and happy at the suggestion, while Dirk is glad that he’s finally going to have someone else to manage the business-sy side of the parlour - which everyone unanimously agrees that he’s always been well bad at.

 **Fast forward to two years later -**  
Michael Assistent has just been recruited into the covert organization known only as Blackwing.

He had thought he would be running into aliens and solving supernatural mysteries like Mulder and Scully but he ends up being assigned as the Handler for a semi-unhinged, semi-retired assassin named Osmund Priest.

This wouldn’t be so bad if Priest didn’t constantly ignore his advice and disobey direct orders, which often gets them both harsh reprimands despite Priest’s impeccable rate of success at missions. Michael kind of maybe regrets joining Blackwing.

One day, after he receives a stern talking to - for something Priest did - by their superiors, Michael gets offered a new position by a rival organization called Blackbook; in exchange for being a snitch. They offer him considerable rewards if he’s willing to feed them information about Priest because apparently, the man keeps showing them up and stealing their clients by doing so.

Michael is torn between his loyalty to Blackwing and Priest - who is actually a pretty nice guy outside of missions and has been something like an older brother to Michael, teaching him how to stand up for himself and such - when he accidentally meets Dirk at the park that they both frequent.

Of course, Michael’s seen Dirk plenty of times before that, and he’s had many wild fantasies of asking the other out, except he’s never quite had the guts to do it in reality because he’s still a shy ball of nerdiness despite all the BAMF skills he’s picked up over the years. Dirk has no idea, and propositions Michael after helping him in the park, and a mix-up has Michael coming to the parlour later on, mistaking it for a brothel.

Michael flounders, Dirk thinks he’s endearingly weird, and Michael keeps coming back, until he finally gets the courage to actually ask Dirk out on a date. He confides in Dirk about his problems with his job - without actually telling him what he actually does - and Dirk gives him very good advice because Dirk is smart like that, and the two start falling in love following many more dates later.

Cue Dirk finding out that Priest is an assassin working for Blackwing, and Michael is apparently working there with him. Dirk feels betrayed - he doesn’t care that they’re working for a shady organisation, but he _does_ care that Priest had lied about it to him.

BLAH BLAH BLAH FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT ANGST ANGST ANGST MOVING ALONG

Dirk gets kidnapped by Blackbook because Michael refuses to help them take down Priest and they’ve found out that Dirk is Priest’s little brother because they saw Michael and Dirk together.

Blackbook waits for a convenient time to do it - while Priest is away - but they don’t count on Norton still being a BAMF despite being retired. Therefore, Norton saves the day - with baby Bart on his back because Norton - and they all reconcile and Priest tries to scare Michael away but Michael doesn’t take shit from him so he and Dirk get to live happily ever after.

They have words about it all, but off-screen because the author wrote half of it non-stop and then slept and then continued on the rest of it also non-stop so brain stopped functioning.

That’s basically it, really. Yup. _Phew_.

Thanks for reading, and hope you took _some_ enjoyment in this ridiculous AU. I kind of really just want to see Dirk giving someone a massage, tbh. _Really_  relevant to my interests. 

**Author's Note:**

> This little bugger jumped at me while I was on holiday and I saw a [Holistic Massage Parlour](https://twitter.com/ktalraven/status/1044898717688426498) and immediately thought of [Dirk](https://twitter.com/ktalraven/status/1044900915176595457) even though it's _definitely_ not what I think it means. DGHDA has conveniently made the word holistic mean something else to me entirely; this is my life now.


End file.
